


Nexus of Redemption

by MavenAlysse



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Fix-It, Gen, Harm to Children, Hearing Impaired Clint Barton, Implied Past Child Abuse, Past Mind Control, Past Torture, Phil Lives, Promise, Tesseract connections, Torture, implied past sexual assualt, it all ends on a good note, obviously, only found out in the last chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 47,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenAlysse/pseuds/MavenAlysse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nexus (n): a center or focus; a connection, tie, or link; a connected group or series.<br/>Doors aren't the only things that can be opened from both ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nexus of Redemption

 An 'Avengers' story.

 Written by Maven Alysse

 Rating: PG13 [for violence]

 

Summary: Nexus (n): a center or focus; a connection, tie, or link; a connected group or series

Doors aren't the only things that can be opened from both ways.

  

Post-Avengers movie, “fix-it,” and redemption story involving de-aging. No pairings.

 

A/N: Warning – this story contains references to prior torture, injuries due to said torture, mentions of child abuse and implied sexual assault of a minor, reference to prior mind control, and injuries consistent with battle and attempted escape.

 

A/N 2: I combined information I read in the comics for most of Hawkeye's background, but recombined some of it to make it fit a timeline that allowed him to be a member of SHIELD – so there are inconsistencies.

 

A/N 3: Not that it will make any difference in this story – I just wanted it mentioned that according to Norse mythology, Loki's mother's name was Laufey (Tree Island), and his father was called Farbauti (Cruel Striker). So, Loki should be named Loki Farbautison. But, since they stated in 'Thor' that Loki's father was Laufey, I have stuck to that for this story.

 

A/N 4: Thank you Aislinn for being the best beta reader and sounding board an author could ever hope for! Thanks to Curtis for editing for me.

 

888

888

 

Nexus of Redemption

 

 

Loki Laufeyson no longer stood in his cell on Asgard. They had thought him weak and helpless; that the special properties within the very stones of the room would block and drain his magic. He admitted, at first, it had done just that, but he'd never been one to limit his education and understanding of magic to just one branch. It had not taken long to reroute the flow of his magic and block even Heimdell's phenomenal sight – letting him see only that which Loki wished. Only a handful of weeks had passed before Loki found a way to travel beyond the walls of his cell. A hollowed tree within a grove outside the city proper became his special place when he needed to escape the cloying stone walls. 

 

While gathering his strength and biding his time, the trickster had directed his own gaze upon Midgard. He found that he could still whisper into the ears of the weak-minded, allowing him to suggest things that let him smirk at the chaos and mischief he'd fostered. If his schemes were much milder than previously, reduced to nearly childish pranks as opposed to malicious destruction, he didn't note it. Day by day, his eyes shifted through shades of blue back to that of green.

 

A month later, he traveled to Midgard on his own power; taking for himself a modest dwelling where he could continue his manipulations in person and 'under the radar'. A small spell let him know if he had visitors to his prison cell so he could make the appearance of repentance to whoever arrived to harangue him over his sins. They always seemed so happy at whatever progress they thought he was making.

 

He mentally rolled his eyes and turned his gaze upon a translucent sphere held in his hands. Though he could, at times, lightly touch upon a few of the Avengers while they slept, he refrained from attempting to manipulate them in any way, for fear his brother or one of his friends would discover that he was not as helpless as originally believed. It wouldn't do to have his fun stopped so soon. That didn't keep him from watching them, though. Especially his Hawk. The man had captured the mage's attention. Even struggling though the aftermath of what he'd done under Loki's control, Hawkeye still had a strength about him that Loki envied. He had not been facetious when he'd proclaimed that Barton had heart. He'd spotted it the moment he'd laid eyes on the mortal – a fierceness, a fey wildness that danced around him, close to the skin, but held under tight control. The tesseract had both released that fierceness and suppressed it. It was too bad there had been no legitimate way at the time to hold the man's loyalty. If Hawkeye had been on his side of his own volition, Loki sensed things would have ended much differently than they had.

 

Though it took a few months before SHIELD trusted his Hawk enough to let him venture out on his own again, Loki was pleased to see Barton return to the world and work he loved. Competent and intelligent, his skills had been wasted while they had him languishing at SHIELD headquarters while the psychiatrists ran him through test after test to ensure no remnant of mind control had remained and that Barton wouldn't succumb to grief or guilt over what he'd done. Loki knew well the character of his Hawk, knew he'd overcome much in his past; if the boy hadn't broken long ago, the man wouldn't break now.

 

True, the man mourned the loss of his handler, the mortal Loki had stabbed, who had accurately noted that Loki lacked conviction. Loki's mouth twisted in a contemplative frown. How had he known? He shook the thought off, refocusing on his previous thought. Barton mourned over Coulson's death, which was understandable. They were warrior-brothers, a bond of trust and reliance upon the other that spanned nearly a decade of time; and Coulson had died before knowing that Barton was free of Loki's control – it was that point that truly struck Hawkeye hard. The 'head shrinks' fretted over the obvious signs of depression as Barton struggled to wrap his mind around the insurmountable dilemma; Loki would have been worried if his Hawk had shrugged the matter off as nothing. The other Avengers had rallied around the archer and the Widow, giving them the support they both needed to get back onto even footing; but Loki saw the pall that hung over his Hawk at times, keeping the man from truly healing.

 

That all of the suffering was unnecessary caused Loki to alternately snarl and smirk in pride. Fury had a manipulative streak within him that nearly rivaled that of the God of Lies; though whether the comparison would horrify him was a question to ask later – it'd be amusing to see the man's facial expression.

 

Loki pursed his lips, staring at the agent in question. Coulson lay in a coma, his survival originally hanging on a thread as doctors attempted to repair the damage the scepter cause. Loki had deliberately missed the heart, hoping to turn the man to his side later, though he had done considerable damage. At the time he'd just wanted to torment his brother by harming one of his precious humans while Thor stood helplessly by. It had been fun, though the blast from the weapon had been an unexpected complication. 

 

Ten months later, the agent was completely healed, but he would not wake. The doctors were at a loss as to why. Loki smirked as he studied the man's aura. The tesseract's energies still flooding the man's system kept him under while his body tried to either absorb it, or remove it. It couldn't do either since Coulson wasn't a magic user, and thus he languished on the borders. Loki tapped a long finger against his bottom lip in thought, a smirk crooking the corners of his mouth. His Hawk needed a reward, and Fury needed to be punished for his audacity. Reaching deep within, Loki touched upon the magics that linked him to those he'd interacted with. He connected with Coulson, and absorbed most of the energies into himself while mentally commanding, 'Wake.'

 

He chuckled at the scrambling going on as Coulson opened his eyes.

 

888

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Cold. He felt bone-chilling cold, like the time he'd fallen through the ice when Barney dared him to cross Old Man Hitlen's pond. He shivered and shook for what felt like days, thinking he'd never feel warm again. With a convulsive shudder, he blinked open his eyes, taking in his surroundings. The gray stones of the small room didn't look familiar, but that didn't necessarily mean anything – in the past four years he'd frequently woken to find himself somewhere other than where he'd fallen asleep. It was a hazard you had to accept when you lived the life he did. He wore a pair of dark blue sweats a few sizes too big, and no shoes or socks adorned his feet. His brows drew down in a frown, unhappy that someone had undressed him. Nothing felt odd, so... He shrugged, mentally setting it aside. The door looked solid, with the hinges not visible. He pushed himself upright, leaning against the wall as the room spun and danced dizzily. A few minutes later, he felt steady enough to examine the room in more detail. He started with the door, even knowing he wouldn't find an exit that way. He pressed an ear against the heavy wood, waiting, listening. Faint vibrations rewarded his patience, two people walking down the hall past his room. A moment later, he made out the faint 'ding' of an elevator and all went silent. He stood there, motionless, mentally repeating a song he'd learned in the circus. After six repetitions, he heard nothing. If there was a patrol, it had a route longer than half an hour. 

 

Blue-green gray eyes scanned the room for anything that could be useful. A blanket and pillow lay crumpled in a corner as if tossed in as an afterthought. Two buckets stood in another corner; one empty, the other filled with what appeared to be water. He dipped a finger and cautiously tasted it. Warm. Flat. But it didn't taste like anything had been added. He slaked his thirst. Beside the buckets lay a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and several strips of jerky. No windows broke the blankness of the walls; the room lit by a bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. An air vent secured by four screws was high on the wall opposite the door. He didn't notice any cameras or other monitoring devices. He snorted in disdain.

 

Clint carefully thought through his options. He'd been in this installation five days already, mostly in a small doctor's office-type room, strapped to the cot. The staff examined him on a daily basis, but no one would tell him anything useful; they'd just asked him stupid questions and hit him when he smarted off. He had a feeling he was to spend quite some time in this new room. So, he could wait until someone showed up again to shout more nonsensical questions at him and continue to smack him around. Or he could attempt to escape his cell and find answers on his own.

 

His gaze went back up to the vent as one hand unconsciously prodded at the bruise that threatened to close his left eye and he nodded decisively.

 

888

888

 

Buckled straps dug into his wrists as he struggled and strained against his bonds. One moment, he'd been watching some of his favorite mortals while enjoying a rare steak; the next he found himself strapped to a gurney, his head spinning and a frightening hollowness resounding from his core.

 

Blank faced men in their sterile white lab coats gazed upon him like an insect under glass, poking and prodding with needle and scalpel; men in red and black uniforms shouted question after question at him almost too fast to understand. They wanted the tesseract; knew he once possessed it; demanded its location. They promised freedom for his cooperation. Promised riches. Promised pain. He ignored them all, focusing inward, inward; wanting – needing – to escape as a stirring of panic welled. What should be as effortless as breathing now felt like straining to lift an elephant with one hand. They had blocked him from his magic! Even more completely than his so-called 'family' had managed. 

 

He cursed and raved, his thoughts still scattered, his memory in pieces. After four days, he'd felt the sting of a needle, the rush of cold liquid that soon set his entire body on fire. His skin had tightened, shrunk in upon itself, feeling like a vice as muscle, bone, and organs gave in to the pressure. He remembered screaming; with even his time with the Chitauri no comparison for the pain coursing through him now. He shrieked himself hoarse, but not before puncturing eardrums and causing nosebleeds in those closest to him.

 

Each day, a new set of scientists examined and questioned him; injecting him with things that continued to make his magic slip out of his grasp. He rode the wave of pain to a manageable level; slowly, slowly coming back to himself. He calmed using mediation exercises, settling his mind. He might not be able to use his magic, but that didn't mean he was completely helpless – he could slip out of his bonds as long as he kept his head and didn't panic. He planned his escape and plotted their demise. They continued to question him; for the next three days he allowed his initial delirium to set the tone of his babble; knowing nothing he said would be of any use. At least to them. He wasn't called Silver Tongue for nothing; one scientist and a soldier had been convinced that shuffling off their mortal coil would be for the best. The last two days he'd been gagged.

 

He was alone now, the scientists all dealing with some other project for the moment. A soft scraping noise caught his attention and he went still, eyes focusing on the curtain that separated his gurney from the rest of the room. He heard the thud of something lightly landing on the tile, quiet footsteps, cabinets easing open, the slight clink of metal, the shush of drawers pulled open and items removed. The curtain rippled as the person stepped closer. Suddenly, he found himself gazing upon a young boy of about thirteen. Dusty blond hair hung in blue-green gray eyes that gazed calculatingly upon him. The piercing look made Loki cock his head feeling a sudden rush of familiarity. He didn't know why, it wasn't as if he spent a lot of time around children. He quickly dismissed the thought as the boy darted forward and unbuckled the straps with nimble fingers.

 

By the time Loki had slid off the gurney, tossing the gag into a corner, the boy had disappeared back behind the curtain. Following, the mage felt his brow crease in confusion. Where had he gone? The room appeared empty. A hum had him looking upward. That first scraping noise he'd heard was the air vent cover being removed. A slender arm reached out, motioning toward a nearby chair. Loki stood on it and raised his hand to grab hold, then froze, seeing his hand for the first time. Whatever these men had done to him, it had brought out his Jotun heritage. His skin was blue, and he had no doubt that his eyes shone a blood red. Startled, he looked up only to find the boy staring calmly back at him. “Grab hold. I'll pull you up,” a bit raspy, the whispered comment held nothing but encouragement.

 

As Loki grasped the boy's hand, the young mortal surprised him with his strength. There was a moment when he thought he wouldn't fit through the opening, having to angle one shoulder in before the other while he dangled eight feet above the floor, but soon he knelt beside his savior as the boy replaced the vent cover. The boy gestured with his chin and started crawling down the shaft, hardly making a sound. Loki prided himself on being able to move without being heard, but winced at the looks shot his way each time he banged against one of the sides, his equilibrium still off.

 

He had several questions, but considering how quiet his guide was attempting to be, he figured he'd hold off until they were in a safer locale. 

 

They traveled for what felt like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, taking random seeming turns and climbing upwards at least two floors, before they reached a widening in the ductwork. His guide slid over to the far wall and gently tapped a rhythm on the metal. A panel slid open revealing a small boy of about eleven years in age with wheat blond hair and sky blue eyes sitting in the tiny space with his arms wrapped about his knees. “You came back!”

 

Blue-green gray eyes narrowed, and a hand gestured for quiet. “I told you I would, didn't I, squirt?” He handed a bundled towel to the kid.

 

The younger boy nodded earnestly, his gaze falling on Loki, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open into a surprised 'o'. “Why are you blue? Are you cold? Will you change colors if you warm up?” Thankfully, he whispered.

 

Loki hadn't spent much time with children, so he wasn't sure how to reply. “I don't know. They did something and I turned blue. I don't normally look like this.”

 

From beside him he thought he caught a murmured, “So, does that mean, sometimes you do?”

 

Before he could respond to the shrewd question, the younger boy had scooted out of his hiding place, swimming in a sweat suit at least five sizes too big. Duct tape had been wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and waist to keep them from falling off or hindering his movement. “I'm Steve. That's Frank. He pulled me out of a locked room and up into the ceiling. Whoosh!” He grinned. Unrolling the towel, he reached inside. “What's your name? Want an apple?” Steve pushed the fruit under his nose.

 

Startled, Loki took the offered fruit. “Um. Thanks. My name is Loki.” As neither boy gave their last names, neither would he – the normal formality felt wrong. He bit into the apple, his stomach growling in hunger.

 

“Like in the stories?” Steve chirped.

 

“Yes. Like in the stories.” Conceptually, he knew that the mortals of Midgard knew of the deeds done by the Asgardians, but it surprised him to learn that one so young had heard of them.

 

“My mom used to read those to me when I was little. Thor was always my favorite, defeating enemies with his mighty hammer.” The blatant hero worship in the boy's eyes made something twist in his stomach, the apple tasting like ash in his mouth.

 

Lip curling, he turned away from Steve. “I suppose Thor was your favorite, too?” Frank had moved off a bit, opened another panel and systematically started pulling all the wiring out, part of his sleeve pulled down to protect his hand.

 

“Humn?” he replied, distracted. “No. Not really. Thor was my brother's favorite.” He grunted as he yanked a particularly stubborn wire from its housing. “Of the two, I preferred Loki.”

 

Loki blinked, then tilted his head in curiosity. “Why?”

 

“Well, Loki wasn't always very nice. According to the stories I could find, he tended to get others into trouble in order to save his own skin, and later on, he actually killed people he was jealous about. But, all in all, I thought he was pretty cool.” Frank bundled the wires up and stuffed them into a pocket. “Loki was smart, clever, and determined. He proved that cunning, stealth, and trickery can win out over brute strength most of the time.”

 

“Trickery is wrong,” Steve solemnly replied in the tones of one who'd never needed to resort to it.

 

Before Loki could let loose a scathing comment, Frank spoke. “Well, get over it., 'cause it's trickery that's gonna save our hides. Those adults won't think twice about hurting kids, and I don't plan to give them that chance.”

 

Steve blinked, but nodded, settling back on his haunches and eating one of the apples. Loki felt himself warm to the older boy and he bit viciously into his own apple, his appetite returning. He grabbed the last apple from the towel and shifted closer, handing over the apple. “What do you think is going on?”

 

Frank shook his head, lowering his voice even further. “Damned if I know. Got some jerks hitting me, asking a bunch of stuff I got no idea about, then knocking me out. I woke up in a locked room.” He shoved the uneaten fruit into his pocket and pried open another panel, yanking wires out of it, too. “I got up into the vents and was just gonna book it, when I found Steve. He's too little to just left behind. No telling what those sickos would do.”

 

“Sickos?” Loki hadn't heard the term before.

 

“Grown men snatching orphans? What do you think is gonna happen? It's not like they can hold us for ransom.” Frank hadn't met his eyes and his motions were jerky with tension.

 

Loki's lips thinned. Even in the height of his madness to rule Midgard, he had never willingly injured children and what Frank suggested disgusted him. “What should we do?”

 

Frank scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I've been up here most of the day. I don't know if or when the guards are going to check on us and find us missing. My guess, you'd be the one they'd notice first.” Loki nodded at that assessment. “I almost have the entire place mapped out,” he tapped his head. “There's a couple of spots I need to check. Then I gotta figure a way out for the adults.”

 

“What adults?”

 

“There's like three other guys being held in cells like mine and Steve's. They're all wearing blue sweats, too. I figure they're also prisoners.” He shrugged, an awkward movement at odds with his previously gracefulness, screaming his unease. “None of them would have fit up into the air vent. Hell, you almost didn't and they're a lot bigger than you. Since no one was hurting them, I figured it was safer to leave them be until I could either direct them to a defensible spot, or get them some weapons, or something.” He sighed, rubbing the side of his head.

 

It was obvious that Frank was struggling with self-preservation by leaving the adults to their fate and a budding sense of responsibility that wouldn't allow him to abandon the others. As for himself, Loki would normally let the adults handle themselves, but since they were all brought together for some purpose, Loki wanted to discover what that purpose truly was. He tried to distract the other boy from his thoughts. “Why did you do that?” He indicated the pulled wires.

 

A wan smile crossed thin features at the change in conversation, the first Loki had seen on the young teen. “You never know when a bit of string, or in this case, wire, can come in handy. Besides, if it wasn't important to something, it wouldn't be here. I'm kinda hoping that if I cause enough damage to stuff, then it'll make it harder for them to come after us.”

 

“Good point.” Loki drew Steve closer and they went around opening every panel they could find and yanking out all the wires.

 

“We should leave. If they figure out what's going on, this'll probably be the first place they check.”

 

“Where to?”

 

“Down a floor and to the other side of the building. There's a place we can hole up. Steve, pick up that apple core. No sense in letting them know who's up here.”

 

Steve obeyed, but asked. “How would they know who's up here from an apple core?”

 

“You got small teeth, small fry. Who else around here would have teeth as small as yours?”

 

“Oh. Right.” He tucked the apple core into his shirt and crawled after the older boys.

 

Once there, Frank gave the place a once over, nodding to himself. “This should work for a while.” He studied the two boys, a faint frown forming between his eyes. “Hey, I need to check out those other spots and I can do it easier if I go alone. Okay if I leave the two of you here?”

 

“How long do you think it will take?”

 

“Half an hour to forty five minutes if things go well.”

 

Loki nodded and watched with a frown of his own as the boy gave a salute and silently scooted away through the ventilation shaft.

 

Steve looked up, eyes frightened. “Do you think he'll be okay?”

 

“I'm sure he will.” He caught the yawn Steve tried to suppress. “You should get some sleep. You look tired.”

 

“I'm not a baby! I don't need a nap.” The indignant look might have amused him at another time, but now it just annoyed him.

 

“Whatever. But if you fall asleep when we're trying to escape I'll leave you behind.” The glare he sent caused Steve's face to fall and he huffed in exasperation at the hangdog look. “Just, lay down for a while. Okay?” He leaned up against one of the walls, and blinked in confusion when instead of curling up away from him, Steve crept closer, his head cushioned upon Loki's thigh. And if he softly recited a few adventures his brother had gone through while stroking the boy's hair, well, he'd deny it to his last breath.

 

Time passed. Long enough that Loki began to worry. Then a whisper of sound and Frank came to a rest beside them. He looked out of breath, but strangely exhilarated, and a new scrape adorned his cheek. “Found an access hatch to the outside. Didn't see any guards, though they might have cameras I couldn't see. Loki, could you take Steve and find a place to hide topside?”

 

“Why can't you take him?” “Why can't I stay?” came the twin responses.

 

Frank shot them both a bland look. “Steve can't stay. You're too little and I don't want ta worry about you on top of everything else. You can't go alone for the same reason so don't even try to argue about it.” Steve pouted, but didn't protest. Loki raised a brow, impressed, though he quickly schooled his features when those blue-green gray eyes landed on him again. “You're too distinctive looking. If the grownups see you and freak out, it'll take that much longer ta get them to listen an' follow us out. They might even try to hurt you.”

 

Loki gazed upon Frank with admiration. “My coloration truly does not disturb you, does it?”

 

Frank shrugged. “So your skin is blue. So, what? I met one dude who not only had blue skin, but fur all over his body, yellow eyes, pointy ears, and a prehensile tail. Best damned trapeze artist in the business.” This was stated calmly and as a matter of fact. Loki merely blinked and accepted that he ... was accepted. It made a strange sensation glow warmly in his chest. “Besides, a couple of the passageways I plan to take to get to the adults are too narrow for you.”

 

Loki had to concede that point; though slender, he still towered over Frank by several inches and his shoulders were wider. The younger boy had already proven his agility and flexibility while they'd traversed the vents and broken into a few empty offices for supplies. “I don't like the idea of you staying behind. What if you're caught?”

 

“I'll deal with it.” Loki frowned at the tone – it indicated a set of experiences one that young should never have. But he could do nothing to change the situation.

 

They followed Frank to the hatchway. “Your exit, gentlemen.” They spent a moment dividing the supplies they'd scrounged, Loki pocketing a set of knives and scalpels as well as some of the wire, snack food, and bottled water. “Head straight ahead for as long as you can. I'll try to catch up to you later. If you find a town, hide in the outskirts to the east of it. I'll find you there.”

 

Loki put a hand on Frank's shoulder, desperately wishing he had access to his magic. Even a small monitoring spell would be helpful about now. He needed to know that his ... friend? ... Yes, friend; would be all right. A shudder went through him, his skin cooling, and a dull ache took residence behind his eyes as the small spell clicked into place. It took entirely too much energy to complete and didn't give him nearly as much information as it was wont to do, but it was there and he'd have to remain content with that. At the connection, the younger boy shuddered, too; Loki could see through the gaping collar goosebumps rise along his neck. As eyes more blue than green or gray met his, the mage once again felt that shock of familiarity. Why was that?

 

“You will find us, right?” Steve asked timidly.

 

The question broke them from their staring and Frank ruffled the boy's hair. “Sure I will, kiddo. Listen to Loki, okay?” Steve nodded and trustingly clasped the older boy's hand. “Now, go.”

 

The two slipped out, and Loki concentrated on getting as far away from the exit as quickly and quietly as possible, trying to ignore the ominous click as the hatch shut behind them.

 

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Captain Phil Coulson of the 27th Battalion Rangers prowled around his small cell, his mind furiously trying to process information. His command had been en route to a remote location in East Germany to stomp out a fire, their plane somewhere over the Atlantic. No radio chatter indicated they'd been discovered, no engine trouble or sudden explosion from sabotage had occurred. So, where was he? How did he get here? Where were his other squad members? For five days the scientists made notations on their clipboards while the soldiers in their red and black uniforms took turns burying their fists in his abdomen. None of the questions they asked made any sense; most about nothing he had any knowledge or access to. It confused him, and he hated being confused.

 

He'd been in this room for hours now, with no other attempts at communication from his captors. On the one hand, he appreciated the chance to catch his breath, but it let his mind come up with different scenarios of what they planned for him next. Each more brutal than the last. The door's hinges were impossible to get to and he reluctantly dismissed the air vent as an escape route as his shoulders would never fit through the narrow opening. His captors had made one major error, though. He could pry off the lip of the buckets they'd provided to make a handy shiv or even a makeshift screwdriver. He didn't know what he would do with the four screws from the vent cover, but he figured he'd think of something, eventually. For now, all he could do was wait for someone to enter and try to subdue them before they overcame him.

 

“Hey! Soldier boy! Head's up!” 

 

Phil snapped around, eyes wide as the near-forgotten air vent lifted and a pair of eyes stared warily down upon him. In the dim recesses of the vent, Phil couldn't quite make out who addressed him, just a small form – could it be a midget? But then the quality of the voice registered: a bit raspy, but higher pitched. Young sounding. A child? 

 

A wave of rage washed over him: they had captured children?

 

The boy drew back and Phil knew he must have let his shock and anger show on his face, something that didn't usually happen, but these were hardly usual circumstances. He reigned in his emotions, not wanting to send the boy fleeing. “Hey,” he tried for soothing. “Hey, it's okay. I was just surprised. Are you okay? Are you injured?”

 

“'m fine.”

 

Phil smirked at himself, he should have expected that. Why would the kid reveal a weakness?

 

“I could get you guys out.”

 

“Guys?” He blinked, startled. Were some of his squad members here, too? Or had others been captured?

 

The boy hummed. “The two rooms to your left are occupied. Looks like blue sweats and no shoes are the prisoner uniforms of choice.” He crept nearer the opening and Phil could make out thin features, one eye turning a spectacular rainbow of colors, a scrape down one cheek, disheveled dusty blond hair, and blue-green gray eyes that held intelligence, wariness, and hope in equal measure. “There aren't even any locks on the doors. They've got one of those push bars you see on fire exits. I can pop them open easily.”

 

Phil nodded slowly, “But can you do it safely?”

 

“Here.” The boy tossed an object; a pistol. Its weight felt comfortable in his grasp, the full clip a blessing, though how the boy got a hold of it, he was almost afraid to ask.

 

“It's amazing what people will leave just lying about,” came a wry chuckle. Before Phil could respond, the boy replaced the vent cover and ducked away back down the shaft. Several nerve-wracking moments passed while ever increasingly morbid thoughts of the boy being found and killed flashed through his mind. His body jerked slightly when he heard the soft 'click' of the door disengaging. Phil caught the edge with his fingertips and eased out into the corridor beyond his cell. He stood at the end of a short hallway, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. “Hello?” he softly called, worried he somehow hallucinated the whole thing, but the tile felt cold beneath his feet and the pistol was a reassuring weight in his hand.

 

“I'm here.” The whisper from the ceiling should have creeped him out, but Phil felt reassured to hear the boy's voice.

 

“I'm Phil. What can I call you?”

 

A long pause and he thought he heard a sigh. “Frank.” Then in a rushed, clipped tone, he continued. “You're on the lowest level. The two rooms to your left have prisoners. There's an elevator at the end of the hall. Beside it is a storage closet of some sort with a service ladder. I think that would be your best bet. You'd get stuck in an elevator.” 

 

“Anyone else?”

 

Another pause. “I got them out already. Too bad you're so big or you could have gone out our way.”

 

His gut wrenched at the implication that other children had been held here and he again had to wrestle with his emotions.

 

“Better get moving, no telling when someone will come by.”

 

Phil nodded and padded down the hall, pistol ready. He hoped Frank would stay nearby; not only did the boy know more about the area and situation than he did, but he didn't feel comfortable about having the child away from where he could protect him.

 

“I'll let them know you're coming. It'd kind of suck if they tried to take you out with a bucket.” The snicker was barely hidden. “Give me a minute, then tap, okay?”

 

“Yes.” He stood against the wall to reduce his profile in case the elevator doors opened and guards came shooting. Counting to himself, trusting Frank had the situation in hand, he slid over to the first door and tapped twice with a finger. At the answering tap, he popped the door open. A young man, somewhere around his own age, slid out into the hallway, hair in a tangled mass of dark curls, equally dark eyes alert and wary, a small scalpel held tightly in one hand. “Interesting way to coordinate a rescue,” the slight smile softened any implied criticism.

 

Phil quirked a brow as if to say, “It worked, didn't it?” and motioned for the other to follow him. Tapping on the second door, he soon had another man in the corridor with them, this one nearly a decade older, sporting salt and pepper hair and washed out blue eyes. This one had a scowl on his face and he waved his own scalpel through the air in his agitation. “Children? You sent a child into the vents? Are you completely mad?”

 

Phil opened his mouth but was cut off by an annoyed hiss from the vent. “I sent myself. You wouldn't even be out if it weren't for me. Stop gabbing and get into the damn storage closet.”

 

Amusement colored Phil's tone at the other's reaction of a dropped jaw and widening eyes. “You heard the man. Let's get moving.” He couldn't decide if he was disappointed or glad that none of his squad appeared to be here. Things were definitely feeling off-center, but now wasn't the time to try to puzzle things out. “I'm Captain Phillip Coulson. You can call me Phil. Our guardian angel is Frank.”

 

“Bruce Banner,” the younger of the two men murmured.

 

“Banner? Doctor Banner?” the second asked incredulously. “I read your paper on nuclear physics in Science Monthly Journal. Brilliant work.”

 

A small pleased smile flashed over Banner's face as they continued down the corridor. “Thank you, Mr. …?” He trailed off, suggestively.

 

“Oh. Eric. Doctor Eric Selvig. Astrophysics.”

 

Recognition flashed in his eyes. “I attended one of your seminars last summer.”

 

“Were either of you working on anything that could have drawn this kind of attention to you?” Phil tried to figure out a logical reason for the two scientists to be here.

 

Both men shook their heads. “I'm working on some calculations for NASA on space travel, but nothing is anywhere near completion,” Dr. Selvig's gaze darted about, his hands clenching and unclenching in nervousness.

 

“Dr. Banner?”

 

A graceful shrug, “I've started researching gamma radiation and their effects.”

 

Steps away from the storage closet, the elevator doors slid open, the car containing five men in uniform, each with a holstered pistol at his hip. The two groups stood stunned for one brief moment in surprise and horror. Phil reacted first, raising his pistol and shooting the man who had brought a walkie-talkie to his lips, trying to keep him from sounding an alarm. He fell with a cry, goading the others into action. Phil shoved the two scientists to the floor, a bullet shredding the air above their heads. Phil returned the favor, catching a second soldier high in the chest; the elevator car a killing box as the guards had no place to go. The man fell back onto one of his comrades, hindering his movements. Phil shot a third, but the man had already fired. Phil hissed in pain as the bullet carved a furrow along his upper right bicep, sending his pistol clattering to the floor. He clutched at the wound, taking a couple of steps towards his fallen weapon, eyes locked on the others. From the corner of his eye, he caught a streak of silver flash past him as Banner sent his scalpel into the fourth man's neck. He fell with a gurgled scream, clawing at his throat. The last soldier shoved his companion's body off and lunged towards the now defenseless Banner. Crossing the threshold, he inexplicably tripped, landing on his hands and knees. Selvig stepped forward and slammed his fist down on the back of the soldier's neck, knocking him out.

 

For a long moment, no one moved, the actions of the last few minutes so fast and furious it left them stunned.

 

“How bad is it?” The scientists startled at the voice from the ceiling, but Phil felt a knot in his chest relax. “Not bad. The bleeding has almost stopped on its own. I still have full range of movement, there's no muscle damage. It won't hinder me.” If he thought it strange to give a child a sit rep he never let it show. The vent cover shifted and Frank wiggled out to land in a silent crouch, gazing at the bodies with his head cocked. Phil felt his heart lurch, wishing the boy hadn't needed to see that.

 

The boy fished around within his baggy shirt. Phil noted with interest that Frank had snagged some duct tape and zip ties from somewhere and had gathered the extra material in the sweats to create pocket folds. He handed over a bottle of water, a half-filled bottle of generic over the counter painkillers, and half a roll of tape to Dr. Selvig who had knelt down beside Phil to examine the wound.

 

Selvig took the offered items with a distracted smile and ripped fabric from one of the guards' uniforms to create a bandage. “Hold still. Let me bind it. Are any of them alive?”

 

Banner gently moved Frank away from the doorway to check on the bodies. “Just the one you knocked out.” He collected the weapons and the walkie-talkies and leaned back on his haunches. “Well, at least we have someone we can question, but what are we going to do with them? We can't just leave them in the elevator; someone will find them. But I don't relish trying to cart them down the hall.”

 

“Jam the door open.” They stared at Frank who looked back at them expectantly.

 

Phil blinked. “Right. The car won't move if the door is still open. If we keep one of the bodies in the way of the door, the car will stay here and keep others from using it, too.” He frowned slightly, “Even if we move the bodies, it's obvious something happened and we don't have the time for cleaning it.” He indicated the blood and dents made by the bullets.

 

Frank slipped over to the storage closet, holding the door open and waving impatiently. Banner and Selvig manhandled the downed guard into the room while Phil dragged one of the bodies to lie half in, half out of the elevator and pocketed the equipment.

 

Banner and Selvig stood awkwardly beside the unconscious guard, while Frank stared at the man with a fierce expression that sent shivers down Phil's spine. No child should look like that. Just who was this kid, anyway? “I'm going to question him – I'd rather you not be here when I do so.” Phil meant Frank, but directed the statement to the scientists, understanding that though young, the boy wouldn't appreciate any attempts at 'protecting' him. A flat gaze and a reluctant nod from the boy told him that Frank hadn't been fooled, but wouldn't call him on it.

 

A panel in the wall led to the elevator's service ladder. Glancing up, Phil could see that there would be plenty of room to climb even if the elevator was in working order. “I can take them to a room I found – it's three floors up, second door on the left. Another storage room, but doesn't look like many people use it. It was real dusty. But it might have stuff we can use.” 'Don't take long,' went unspoken. The boy didn't trust them, he had no real reason to do so. He only revealed himself to help fellow prisoners, and would run if things went south. Phil nodded his understanding.

 

Frank jerked his head for the two men to follow and started climbing. Once the three are out of sight, Phil turns to the man just now groaning back into consciousness. “Let's see how much you know, shall we?”

 

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Loki cursed as Steve stumbled for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. The little boy couldn't keep up with Loki's longer stride, but to his credit, he'd gamely struggled on and made no complaints. They'd been running, in more or less a straight line, for nearly an hour. The dark circles and drawn face told him that the younger boy was at the end of his endurance.

 

With a sigh, Loki swept Steve up onto his back. “Hang on, but don't choke me.” Thin legs wrapped themselves around his waist, and thin fingers grasped his shoulders leaving his hands free. Frank had offered him one of the extra pistols he'd found, but the Jotun had refused. He didn't know how to use one and had no time to learn. With his magic on the fritz, he only had stealth, speed, a pair of knives and his wits to depend on. Sadly, he feared they'd made little actual headway and all of Steve's crashing about would have alerted even the deaf. 

 

It came as no surprise when ten minutes later he rounded a copse of trees and came face to face with a squad of soldiers. Loki hoped Frank wouldn't be too disappointed when they weren't around to meet him.

 

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Phil walked the man out to the elevator and swiftly broke his neck, not wanting to waste a bullet on him, letting the body fall amidst his comrades. Lips pressed in a thin line, his mind worked feverishly to process the information he'd gleaned. HYDRA had a device that located and transported anything that resonated with the same energy as the tesseract. Phil knew what the tesseract was – he was a Captain America fan, after all – but he had no idea that it had been found. Supposedly, HYDRA's device had brought several crates of experimental weaponry and six people. When normal interrogation techniques had failed to give them the answers they'd wanted, HYDRA's scientists, in their infinite wisdom, decided to use an experimental serum – a concoction of magic and science – that would, conceivably, make the subjects less resistant. Less than successful, what it had done was to de-age each of them by twenty years, including all their skills, abilities, and memories. Phil hovered on the edge of skepticism on the validity of that claim, but figured, if true, the tesseract energy was to blame for the screw-up. Useless as sources of relevant information, HYDRA planned to hold on to them for further experimentation, though Selvig and Banner might be of use to them; they were both brilliant scientists in their specific fields. One of the “boys” had demonstrated some type of abnormality and had been taken for study, while the other two had recently been placed in cells and ignored. Phil couldn't help the snarl that curled his lip. They would be used as leverage to get the others to do as ordered. The guard's idea of appropriate 'punishment' should they prove recalcitrant turned Phil's stomach.

 

He started climbing the service ladder, a bit awkward with a pistol in hand, but with the elevator out of service, he wanted to be prepared in case anyone arrived. He wondered how he would explain that they should be twenty years older and if he believed it himself. He didn't feel any different (admittedly, he wouldn't if the guard was telling the truth), and he hadn't actually seen anything to indicate that he missed twenty years. As a psychological ploy, though, it was weak. He decided to shelve it until he could get some actual confirmation one way or another.

 

He sidled down the hall and to the storage closet, giving a quick tap so as not to startle the others. Sliding into the room, he felt his heart drop, finding only the signs of a struggle. The others were gone, but his eye caught on the odd arrangement of items on the ground.

 

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Once at the storage room, Clint felt antsy, and barely spared the contents of the closet a glance before climbing up into the vent. He shuffled himself a bit further from the vent; he needed a bit of breathing room, a way to get a hold of himself. That the adults were too large to follow him in here was an added bonus. His nerves thrummed just as they would before a performance; panic clawed at the back of his throat, threatening to make him start screaming, screaming, screaming. To make him curl up in a ball, and shake, and never move again. He didn't know what he was doing – didn't know what compelled him to help these adults when adults had never done anything for him. When he'd found Steve, it had been an automatic reaction to tell him his name was Frank. None of the kids in the circus would tell their real names to the townies – it caused too much trouble, was easier to state with complete truth 'No, officer, we don't have any kids here by that name, must have been one of the town kids.' Trust didn't come easily for Clint, not anymore, maybe not ever, but he also couldn't just sit there while there might be something he could do to help.

 

With Loki, he almost told him his real name at the end, when he saw them out the hatch, but he didn't want to have to waste time explaining the trick. Not that he thought Loki would be upset, he seemed a lot like his namesake in that manner, but Steve would have had questions and it wasn't something he was prepared to deal with at the time. As for the adults, well, lying to adults was second nature to him by now.

 

He knew Coulson had been upset over his presence wherever they were, and he'd seen the look of horror and pity sent his way after the guards had died. Clint didn't want to have to explain that this wasn't the first time he'd seen a dead body.

 

He idly watched Banner and Selvig search the shelves, pulling two large containers of cleaning solutions out. Banner found a few smaller bottles and jars and Clint could hear parts of their hushed conversation, catching short phrases like: hydrochloric acid, toxic vapors, and hydrazine. One of them overreached and knocked a bottle over, which in turn sent several items clattering off a shelf and onto the floor. All three held their breath; Clint clenched his fists tightly; Banner and Selvig clutched their scalpels.

 

For a moment, for a brief moment, it looked like the noise had gone unheard. Just as the two scientists began to relax and continue their search, the door slammed open, catching Selvig in the shoulder and spinning him around. Men swarmed into the small room, crowding Banner and Selvig up against the shelves. One shelf collapsed under the combined weight, sending items to scatter across the room. Banner struck with his scalpel, earning a ragged hiss of pain and being clubbed with a pistol butt in reply. Selvig managed to knock down two before also been rendered unconscious. Clint watched, wide-eyed, as the guards continued beating and kicking the two men. One toggled a handset and only his proximity to the vent allowed Clint to hear, “We found two in the storage closet on four.”

 

~ Bring them to lab eight. We'll question them all. ~

 

“Yes, sir.” He snapped to the others. “Lab 8. We're going to have a conversation.” The smirks told Clint all he wanted to know about how that conversation would be conducted. He waited, motionless and silent, while the guards manhandled Banner and Selvig out of the closet and down the hall. Once out of earshot, he tilted his head considering his options. 

 

He could rabbit. No one would blame him. He was just a kid and these were insane adults with weapons. Coulson was still loose and he looked like he could handle anything thrown his way. On the other hand, the man had said 'all'. What did that mean? Had Coulson been caught? Or, and his heart caught in his throat at the thought, had Loki and Steve been found? Even if Coulson was still free, he was just one guy. Clint worried his bottom lip with his teeth, tasting blood as he warred with himself.

 

Dropping down into the room, he glanced at the two canisters Banner and Selvig had been studying. A slow, wicked little smile crossed his face at the possibilities. Quickly gathering what he needed and storing it in his pockets, he rearranged some of the items on the floor, hoping if Coulson showed he'd get the message. He darted back up into the vent and headed up one floor to Lab 8.

 

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Loki absently sucked the blood off his bottom lip and studied the men around him with a jaundiced eye. He'd had bloody lips before – one could not grow up with Thor as an enthusiastic older brother and not end up nursing scrapes and bruises on a regular basis. He wasn't even overly surprised at the backhanded slap he'd received when he'd mouthed off to the soldier in charge of bringing them back to the compound. No, what bothered him was the callous way Steve had also been treated. The boy now sported a black eye, but had made no sound after the first startled cry and had quickly dashed away any tears. Loki had to admire him for that – the kid definitely had a backbone. The small ember of rage had grown, it wouldn't take much to send it blossoming into a towering inferno; even when subjugated by the Chitauri, Loki had never targeted children. These 'people' were no better than insects and he would take great pleasure in stomping upon them.

 

As they were frog-marched through the front gates and down a few levels, Loki tried to keep a mental tally of the number of people they encountered. For it's size, there weren't as many people as Loki was expecting; his own secret lair had been only a fraction of the size and he'd had many people doing his bidding – all due to his Hawk's excellent recruiting skills. The soldiers would be difficult to get around in his current condition – there had to be some way to negate the magic suppressor that was on him – but the scientists appeared too out of shape and inwardly-turned to be of much resistance.

 

The soldiers manhandled them into a lab: computers lined two walls, equipment panels and low tables lined the other two. Six gurneys with straps stood in a double line in the center of the room; towels covered instrument trays, hiding the contents from sight but not from the imagination. The ceiling had beams criss-crossing it's length and width, and dead center hung a large fan, probably in case of any chemical accidents.

 

They forced the two 'kids' onto the gurneys, strapping them down. Steve struggled instinctively, almost bordering on panic, another slap to the face stunned him long enough for them to restrain his hands and feet. Loki didn't struggle, but he did clench his fists tight, making the muscles in his wrists stand out. Relaxing once the scientist turned away, Loki had enough wiggle room to slip out of the cuffs. Then they were ignored. Loki huffed, somewhat annoyed. The HYDRA agents didn't even ask them how they'd escaped.

 

Loki attempted to listen in to the conversation around him, but he couldn't understand the terms being used. He scowled again, but his annoyance was curtailed when a squad of men entered the lab. Two had bodies draped over their shoulders. Too large to be Frank, the sight never the less unnerved the Jotun. He heaved a sigh of relief as the guards strapped the bodies onto gurneys. You didn't tie down corpses. He studied the two men across from him and blinked in surprise, then blinked again. He knew these men. The one on the right was Banner, the man he'd goaded into becoming the Hulk, the one who had slammed him repeatedly into the floor of Stark's penthouse, waking him. The other was Selvig, his pet scientist, the one who'd studied the tesseract and opened a portal that allowed the Chitaurian army to invade.

 

They looked different somehow. Fewer lines marred their faces. No gray in Banner's hair, and more black in Selvig's. They were … younger looking. His eyes narrowed. Craning his head, he managed to catch a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface. Trying to deal with the fact his Jotun heritage had surfaced, it hadn't registered that he was shorter than usual. Thor and his Asgardian friends had always loomed over him and he'd been taller than both Frank and Steve. It should have registered that the Midgardian soldiers looked taller than he remembered most mortals to be in comparison to himself. He studied his reflection, ignoring the blue skin and red eyes. Yes, he looked younger as well. About fifteen annuls rather that the dignified thirty-five annuls he'd aged himself to.

 

He pursed his lips, and concentrating on the image, brought forth his aura in his mind's eye. A dark spot surrounded his throat, centered at the nape of his neck. Whatever they had done to suppress his magic had to have its origin at that point. If he could remove it, he'd show these men that Loki Laufeyson was no one to trifle with. 

 

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Leaving the storage closet, Phil broke into an empty office and used the log-in and password the owner had thoughtfully taped to the monitor. He shook his head at the incompetence, but couldn't complain since it benefited him. He felt himself grow cold as he scanned the files. There was information about the tesseract and the machine created to locate and transport anything that held similar energies. Nine days ago, six individuals had arrived at the complex, each attuned to one degree or another to the energy that was the tesseract, along with several crates of experimental weaponry. Despite four days of intense questioning (torture – his mind supplied, reading between the lines) all they got for their trouble was name, rank, and serial number. There had been a few notations of what else the others had done or said during their 'interrogations', as well as a little about what the agents could discover about each individual through outside sources.

 

Phil was pleased to see that he'd only 'smiled blandly' to everything. He was labeled as an agent of SHIELD, though no one seemed to know what he did there.

 

Doctor Eric Selvig had a doctorate in astrophysics, had worked with NASA as a younger man, and now worked out of New Mexico on something called the Einstein-Rosen Bridge or Bi-frost. There was a notation that the Bridge led to a place called 'Asgard'. When questioned, Selvig merely rattled off scientific formulas and star names.

 

Loki had an interesting dossier: there was some confusion whether he was a human magic-user who had the ability to shape-shift, or an Asgardian himself. If the latter, Loki had used the tesseract to open a portal in space and allow aliens to invade the earth – only defeated by a small team of superheroes called 'the Avengers'. After injecting him with a magical suppressor, they'd removed the gag to get more information. They failed, but not before Loki convinced two agents to commit suicide before they replaced the gag. 

 

Rogers kept reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. (And wasn't that a shock? Steve Rogers – The Captain America – was alive, well, and here!) It seemed the super soldier serum was trying to return Rogers to 'fighting trim' – he'd de-aged like the rest of them, but had begun aging again at an accelerated rate of a year a day. Phil quickly made the calculation in his head. Rogers had disappeared at the age of 26. If he'd been de-aged by twenty years, and they'd been like this for five days, that would make him eleven now.

 

Dr. Bruce Banner was the leading scientist in nuclear physics and gamma radiation. According to the notes he, like Loki, received some sort of suppressor injection on a daily basis. Phil didn't understand most of the medical jargon, but it looked like it had to do with the adrenal gland. For some reason, they didn't want the doctor getting angry. Banner had remained mostly silent, reciting scientific formulas as well, but in ancient Greek.

 

The last man, Clint Barton, also an agent of SHIELD, either answered a question with a question or sang fragments of songs.

 

As a group, they'd frustrated the HYDRA agents to the point where they'd resorted to an experimental serum to break their resistance. The plan was to weaken them both physically and mentally. Instead, it had de-aged them. Without their current knowledge, they were useless as forms of information. The scientists spent five days examining them, trying to see if they could reverse the de-aging. Unable to find the tesseract, the scientists placed them in their cells. Perhaps some experimentation could draw whatever tesseract energies remained within them.

 

Phil wondered if 'Frank' was Loki or Barton. No pictures accompanied the files and other than the mention of de-aging, no age estimates were given (an oversight Phil would never have made). He'd already met Banner and Selvig, and he knew Rogers had blond hair and blue eyes, whereas 'Frank' had dusty blond hair and odd hazel tri-colored eyes. He guessed he'd have to ask when (if) he saw the boy again.

 

Phil used his access to download what he could onto a disk he found in a drawer, then typed in a code a hacker-friend once taught him. He didn't know if it would work – after all, he was apparently twenty years behind the times – but he had to try something. He quickly tossed the rest of the office, finding a spare set of clothes and another clip for his pistol.

 

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Phil Coulson calmly walked through the door of Lab 8, clad in stolen clothing, the ill-fit hidden by the lab coat – carrying a clipboard and wearing a polite, if slightly vague and preoccupied smile upon his face. He'd already long established a basic human tenant – act calmly, like you belong, and as if you know exactly what you are doing and people would take that as fact until you exhibited behavior contrary to expectations. He wandered about the room, going from station to station, hiding the mounting horror at the information he gleaned. The HYDRA agent's attempts at combining magic with science had not gone well thus far, but with the addition of an actual magic-user – Loki – they had a new avenue of research to explore. He and the others were now mere guinea pigs to whatever the scientists dreamed up, with the two youngest mostly expendable as the current theory held that their smaller bodies would not handle the experimentation as well.

 

Four gurneys lay occupied. Banner and Selvig appeared unconscious, the visible bruising a momentary cause of concern. Both men were hooked up to various monitors, but Banner had an extra one that connected to something at the nape of his neck. A boy of perhaps eleven lay across from them; sky blue eyes nearly concealed by a fringe of wheat blond hair darted about. Small face creased in determination, one thin wrist twisting surreptitiously within its cuff. He might be able to slip out if no one paid undue attention. Phil paused mentally as his inner geek tried to rise to the surface – that little boy was Captain America. THE Captain America. Found and rescued from the ice, the man who nearly single-handedly took down most of the HYDRA bases in Germany as well as defeated the Red Skull. The look of determination on his face proved to Phil it wasn't the serum that made Rogers special.

 

The last gurney held a slight figure with blue skin and red eyes. Phil blinked and blinked again, not letting his astonishment show on his face. This must be Loki, the magic-user who connected them all with the energy of the tesseract. He looked like a teenager – bored and angry – but Phil was used to seeing through masks. The magic-user was furious and if given the opportunity, would wreck havoc on the HYDRA agents. HYDRA had Loki listed as hostile and extremely dangerous. He didn't know if the magic-user would help his fellow captives, but Phil planned to let him have that opportunity.

 

That meant that the child he knew as Frank was Agent Clint Barton of SHIELD. He kept a smirk off his face by sheer dint of will as he listened to the increasingly frustrated reports sent back and forth by walkie-talkie. No one had seen hide or hair of the boy, and though a few electrical problems had been discovered, none of the soldiers appeared overly worried. They should be. Phil recognized many of the mannerisms 'Frank' had exhibited from street kids he'd met in his youth. The boy was smart, quick, and canny. If he hadn't hared off, and he didn't seem the type to just leave people to their fate, Phil had a feeling HYDRA wouldn't know what hit them. The boy was the one to break everyone out in the first place and had done so undetected. Phil kept an eye out, wondering when the boy would show.

 

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Clint found Lab 8 and eased out of the smaller than usual vent with some difficulty and onto one of the crossbeams. Lying on his stomach, he spent a few minutes watching the activity below and chewing his bottom lip in thought. There were too many people to just slip down to floor level and unbuckle straps unnoticed. No one would be leaving through that vent in a hurry – they'd have to find an alternate exit. He'd need a diversion, and even then, there were no guarantees that he would be successful. He shuddered, berating himself as seven types of fool, but he didn't return to the vents, cataloging all of the adults below. Eight men in uniform, and ten men and women in lab coats. Not good odds.

 

Banner and Selvig were still unconscious. Panic threatened again, and he seriously considered making a run for it, himself. Let the adults look after themselves, he didn't owe them anything. Hadn't he already risked himself enough getting them out of their cells? The two smaller forms strapped to cots curtailed his desire to flee. Loki and Steve were just kids. Like him. The only ones he'd ever been able to depend upon (even if it was to depend on them being little shits) were the other kids in the circus. They warned each other of potential trouble, would be distractions for the others, and were practically the only family most of them had since the parents tended to ignore the 'lot lice' unless Mr. Carson got complaints. Yes, he could try to save his own skin, and no one would truly blame him, but he knew he had to try to free them. The questions was: How?

 

He lay out his supplies on the beam, taking stock of what he had that he could use. On his way here, he'd raided a few more empty rooms. He had several rags, three bottles of water, five glass vials of ammonia and six of bleach, a handful of office supplies and knick-knacks good for throwing, and two full clips for the pistol he'd stolen. 

 

He examined the weapon, glad to see it was clean and in good working order. His daddy had taught him how to hunt with both pistol and rifle, a few of his foster homes had encouraged the skill – it meant less money spent on food -, and the circus had improved his aim phenomenally adding the bow and knife throwing to his repertoire. He really didn't want to kill anyone, but these people had already demonstrated their lack of humanity and he would be damned if he allowed them to hurt him or the others without retaliation.

 

He studied the room below once again as he carefully soaked six rags with water; with a faint grin, he spotted Coulson in his lab coat. He smirked at the man's audacity and the stupidity of the other adults. How did that even work as a disguise? Steve nearly had one hand free of the cuff – the boy smart enough to stop for now – all he had to do was relax his fist and his hand would slide right out. Both Banner and Selvig were groggily waking, but none of the scientists had gone to check on them, yet. He caught Loki's eye, glad to see the older boy also had one hand nearly free of the cuff. He tied one of the rags about his nose and mouth and hefted a pair of vials in one hand, indicating a far wall. A pause and then a quick bob of the chin was his response. Clint counted to three, bobbing his head in time for Loki's benefit. One. Two. Three!

 

In quick succession, pairs of vials flew through the air, aimed for the exact center of each corner of the room as well as the entranceway. Ammonia and bleach mixed to form a dense cloud of toxic vapor, sending those around it into fits of gagging and coughing. As the confusion and panic spread, Clint dated across the beams, a water soaked rag landing with pinpoint accuracy across each prone prisoner's mouth and nose. The other adults were coughing and wheezing too much to notice, trying to head for the exit in a massive rush. One rag draped itself over Coulson's shoulder and the man accepted it with a nod in his direction. Five scientists and three guards made it out of the room before the containment procedures kicked in, sealing the lab. Three others had collapsed, clawing at their throats for air, while the rest continued running around like chickens without their heads.

 

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Loki might not have had access to his magic, but that didn't mean he was totally helpless or bereft of skills. Escaping from bonds was nearly second nature to him. He quickly freed one hand – he merely needed a moment or two to free himself completely. Any type of distraction would do.

 

He gazed about, his eyes landing on one particular scientist standing over to the left. There was something off about the man, but Loki couldn't put his finger on just what bothered him. He tilted his head, gazing past the man, but keeping him in his peripheral vision so as not to draw attention. The man looked familiar. The bland smile. The steady gaze in blue eyes. The ability to blend in to his surroundings. With a jolt, it came to him. Wasn't he the one he'd stabbed with the scepter on the helicarrier? Amazing. He lived. Humans sure were unpredictable creatures. Some were positively entertaining. Perhaps the distraction would come from that direction?

 

A flicker of movement above him caught his eye. There, in the crossbeams … yes, someone was up there! Frank! He'd found them! Deliberately making eye contact, the younger boy wrapped a cloth about his lower face, hefted two bottles of clear liquid in one hand, and pointed to the wall with the other. Then he raised an eyebrow as if waiting for a response. Loki had an idea that whatever happened next would give him the distraction he'd wanted. He nodded once, a quick, careful motion.

 

In a movement almost too fast to see, Frank threw two sets of vials at each corner and the doorway. The liquid combined to create a foul smelling gas. The boy danced across the beams and a wet cloth fell over his nose and mouth, filtering the fumes; out of the corner of his eye, he saw rags land on the other prisoners as well. Loki quickly yanked his hand out of the cuff and started on the other buckles, his mind slotting a few things into order. Banner, Selvig, and Coulson had all been affected by the tesseract and his staff. Although he didn't know how Steve fit in all of this, considering the presence of the first three men, and the display of startling accuracy, the intense gaze, Frank had to be his Hawk!

 

That Clint had not given his true name bothered Loki not in the slightest - names have power, and Loki knew himself well enough to realize he would have reacted much differently had he known of his Hawk's true identity when they first met. It was obvious that his Hawk had no memory of what had occurred less than a year ago.

 

Perhaps, whatever friendship was created now would carry over to when (if) those memories were restored.

 

It surprised Loki how much he truly wanted that to be the case.

 

Dropping to the floor, he crawled to the nearest gurney, blindly fumbling with a wrist strap. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Steve doing the same for the other man. Coulson was “stumbling” into people and “accidentally” knocking them out. Loki smirked; he could appreciate a man like that – too bad he'd tried to kill him. That might not be something the other man could overlook. 

 

A guard landed heavily beside him, temple bleeding and a stapler on the ground nearby; he flashed a feral grin up at Clint.

 

888

888

 

If Phil hadn't been studying the magic-user, he would have missed the tiny bob of Loki's chin, as if in signal. Crashing glass came from all over the room, sounding loud amid the quiet voices of the scientists. People began to panic as thick white fumes poured from the corners. His eyes watered and he coughed and gagged as the scent hit his nose, his mind instantly recognizing the combination of ammonia and bleach. Something landed on his shoulder and he took the soaked rag gratefully, barely able to make out the small form darting back and forth across the beams. He clamped the rag over his mouth and nose, filtering out the fumes. Over-exaggerating his coughing, he “blindly” moved about and knocked into people, rendering them unconscious, as he “stumbled” around. Some heavy projectile whizzed past his ear, taking out a scientist behind him. He peered at the downed man and grinned, what an interesting use for a snowglobe. The large fan set in the ceiling turned on, thinning the toxic fumes as the doors locked. A guard pulled his weapon, aiming towards Dr. Selvig who had just climbed off his gurney, a cloth clamped to his face. Phil aimed his own pistol and fired on the man, dropping him before he could shoot the doctor. Having shown his hand, Phil ducked behind a computer array, dodging fire from three other guards. He didn't dare shoot back; if he missed he might hit one of the others. He could only hope to lure them closer.

 

A shot and a scream caught his attention, doubly so as the last two guards started shooting upward. 'Clint!' He lunged from his hiding space, angling for a better line of sight. One of the guards caught his movement and turned to fire. Phil felt a fierce surge of satisfaction as his bullet hit its mark. He aimed for the last guard, too late. Duel shots rang out along with duel cries. The guard collapsed, a hole in the center of his throat. A horrified silence filled the room.

 

“FRANK!” Steve's voice was high with fear. “Frank, are you okay?” They waited for a reply.

 

“'m fine.”

 

Steve relaxed, a tentative smile on his face. Selvig took the comment at face value, removing weapons from the downed guards. Banner said nothing, but looked less than convinced, exchanging glances with Phil. Loki had moved, actively searching for a way up to the boy, his brow creased in worry. Convinced he'd heard a whimper of pain in the reply, Phil followed Loki to where the equipment made a rough staircase of sorts that would bring someone only a few feet below the crossbeams. 

 

Loki snapped his fingers at him. “Give me a boost, then I'll pull you up.”

 

Phil hesitated; he couldn't help but remember the information HYDRA had on Loki. A powerful magic-user and a manipulator, he'd tried to bring the entire world under his own rule. Could he trust him?

 

Loki turned to him, his crimson gaze holding his own, a trace of trepidation within. “I can't get up there on my own, and we're wasting time he might not have. We will not escape this place in one piece if we do not cooperate and trust one another.”

 

Phil realized two things: one, Loki had not lost any of his memories and there was some history between him and the others, and two, though known as the God of Lies, Loki was telling the truth. He laced his fingers together, creating a stirrup. Loki grasped his shoulder and set his bare foot into the cradle. Phil shuddered at the cold flesh and quickly lobbed the younger-seeming man upward. Loki scrambled onto the beam, turned and offered a hand. Grasping it, Phil used it as leverage to hoist himself up. They crab-walked along the beam – both all too aware of how far below lay the ground.

 

They reached the younger boy's half-crumpled figure. “Frank?” an odd tone entered Loki's voice.

 

The boy looked up from where he sat pressing a rag to his side, the cloth turning crimson as quickly as his face paled. Tri-colored eyes, more green than blue or gray, flickered upward, and a breath of laughter escaped. “Clint. Might as well call me Clint.” He coughed, lips staining with blood. The boy whimpered, panting for breath, tears slipping free and down ashen cheeks. “Hurts.” He shifted, lips going bloodless, and swayed, pupils swiftly engulfing the irises. They both reached for Clint at the same time, terrified he'd plunge to his death.

 

Loki got there first, dropping to his knees, one hand grasping Clint's shoulder to steady him, the other instinctively clamping over the wound in his side. The bullet had entered just below the rib, lodging in the lung, causing the boy to slowly drown in his own blood. At the contact, both gasped and stiffened as if they'd touched a live wire. Phil felt the air around them go cold as a faint blue glow surrounded them. Loki's eyes rolled back into his head, the glow faltering, and Phil grabbed onto both, determined not to lose either boy. Loki's skin felt so cold it nearly burned his hand even through the sweatshirt. The connection strengthened between the three of them; Phil could feel his energy being used to help save Clint as the boy hovered close to death. The blood flow slowed, then stopped.

 

The world tilted on its axis, and Phil slammed his eyes shut.

 

888

888

 

Loki stood, hands on his hips, staring at the blue-washed empty landscape around him. “Well, this is new.” He frowned, absently tapping his foot. How long had he stood here? Seconds? Minutes? Months? The real world had disappeared, but he didn't recognize this place. Or did he?

 

“Wha... what's going on?” He turned to see Clint sitting nearby, eyes wide, fear evident in his expression, gunshot wound no longer in evidence.

 

“I'm not sure,” Coulson knelt beside the boy, one hand on his shoulder, the other gingerly touching where the wound had been, staring in awe.

 

“I think...” Loki tested the words has they fell from his lips, finding them to be True. “I think this belongs to the tesseract.”

 

“Loki?” Clint's voice sounded so very young and unsure. The thirteen year old had stayed strong under such confusing and adverse conditions, but Loki realized the boy stood on the brink of breaking down entirely, that this new situation could push him over his limits. 

 

The Jotun sat down beside the boy, slinging an arm over his shoulders, drawing him close to his side. He felt something warm in his chest as Clint pressed closer, arms wrapping about his waist, absorbing the given comfort like a sponge.

 

“The tesseract is an ancient artifact that holds unlimited energy and power. In the right hands it can bring peace and prosperity. In the wrong, death and destruction.” Loki's voice took on the singsong cadence used when storytelling, trying to distance himself from the pain the memories still held for him. “A corrupt, evil creature searched for it in order to hold the very universe under its thrall, but it could not go to where the tesseract rested. This creature found a being – one hurt, alone, confused, and easily turned through pretty lies and horrible agony – to locate this artifact and open a portal between worlds.” He swallowed, eyes turned inward in memory, unaware of the minute shaking in his limbs. “The creature gave the being a scepter, one intimately connected with the tesseract, a sister artifact, if you will. The creature bound the being to the tesseract, forcing him to do its will. Though he fought, the being could not free himself of the tesseract's energy, and through the scepter, bound others to his will just as he had been bound. A few had only been lightly touched, some completely, one run through.” Loki found his gaze focused on Coulson, inwardly horrified by the dawning understanding within light blue eyes, confused that no condemnation followed. “The portal opened, and the creature's army spewed forth. The world would have been utterly destroyed if not for a group of heroes who defeated the army and closed the portal, nearly at the expense of their own lives. The being was captured and sent to face his punishment.”

 

“And the creature?” Coulson quietly asked.

 

Loki blinked, losing the cadence, falling out of the storytelling trance. “I do not know. His chosen army was utterly destroyed, but of the creature itself...?” He trailed off with a shake of his head.

 

“How did you break free of the creature's control?” This came from Clint, who had only tightened his grip around Loki as the story progressed, returning the comfort provided.

 

Loki stared down in shock, Clint's calm eyes stared back, his face questioning, but not accusatory. “I... One of the heroes ended up slamming me into the floor a few times. When I'd recovered my breath, I found I no longer felt compelled to do what I had been bidden to do, but was captured and gagged before I could gather the wits to explain myself. How...?”

 

“Your eyes went far away and sad, like you were remembering something that actually happened, not just a story you'd heard.” The boy shrugged. “I do the same thing, sometimes.”

 

“Oh, how I wish I could have known you like this beforehand,” Loki murmured as he carded his fingers through Clint's hair. “How different things might have been.” He shook off the thought. “The full extent of the tesseract's abilities is unknown. As I said, its energy is unlimited. Once touched by the tesseract, a connection is forged, perhaps for all time. This,” he waved his hand at their surroundings, “is the manifestation of that connection.”

 

“Why are we here?” Clint asked. “Is it because we were all touching when you healed me?”

 

“Somewhat.” Loki found he didn't want to lie; part of that was due to the tesseract – it showed truth – but part was that he truly wanted the others to trust him, and if he lied that would never happen. He just didn't know how to explain the truth of the situation – it was all too unbelievable.

 

“How are we connected to the tesseract?” Coulson's tone brooked no argument or deception.

 

He gave a long drawn-out sigh. “Dr. Selvig was taken over by the scepter. He studied the tesseract and discovered the way to open a steady portal.” Loki smirked, “He also built in a fail-safe, using the scepter itself as the key. It's how the portal was closed.” He shifted, unconsciously tightening his half embrace of the smaller boy. “The scepter itself exudes gamma radiation. I used that to trigger a transformation within Dr. Banner in order to help destroy the ship I was being held on.”

 

“Is he the one who ended up 'slamming you into the floor a few times'?” Clint asked.

 

Loki smiled. “Yes. Probably the only one who could have done it, in fact. It would have killed a mortal, but just put me out of commission for a short time.”

 

“What triggers this transformation?” Phil leaned forward, eyes intent.

 

“Anger. Rage.”

 

“I wonder what keeps him from transforming now? He has had plenty to get angry about.”

 

“Some type of suppressor, I'd guess. Similar to whatever they're using on me to keep me from using my magic. It must have been injected, for there was nothing to remove. I only pray that it will wear off, and soon.” Loki felt his face pull in a frown. He hated being handicapped, and without his magic, he felt less than capable of defending himself and the others.

 

He tilted his head in thought, tapping his lower lip with one finger. “I don't know how Steve fits in to all of this. His connection is less than Selvig's but stronger than Banner's.”

 

A curious smile crossed Coulson's face. “Steve is Steve Rogers. Also known as Captain America.”

 

“I thought Captain America was a comic book character?” Clint interjected.

 

“Yes, but those comic were based on a real person. Captain America helped defeat the Red Skull during WWII in Germany.” Light blue eyes locked onto Loki's meaningfully. “He recovered the tesseract from HYDRA and Nazi control. It was in his possession when he had to crash land his plane into the Arctic Ocean to keep the missiles on board from taking out civilian or military targets.”

 

Loki nodded, that actually made a lot of sense. “It is possible the tesseract could have combined with, altered, or in some way enhanced the super soldier serum, allowing him to survive decades encased in ice.”

 

Clint looked skeptical. “But... how can Steve be Captain America? He's, like, eleven years old. The Captain is an adult.”

 

Loki sighed, not sure how to explain this part.

 

Coulson cleared his throat., “I went nosing around. Found some files about what's going on here. Seems these HYDRA agents used an experimental potion they'd created in order to weaken us. Instead, it de-aged us. Each of us should be twenty years older.”

 

“Wouldn't we know we should be older?” blue-green gray eyes narrowed as Clint tried to process the information, but sounding less skeptical.

 

“It either removed or blocked our memories so we only know what we would have at our current age.” Coulson's steady voice further convinced the boy.

 

Clint studied the two older people, a shrewd expression upon his face; the mage could practically see the gears in his mind turning. “That's not the case for you, Loki. Why not?”

 

Loki couldn't hold back the flinch at the perceptive question, covering his unease with sarcasm. “In case it passed you by, I'm not exactly human.” He gestured to his blue skin.

 

A hum. “Oh. I thought you were a mutant.” Clint's gaze didn't waver, nor did he move away. “So, what? You're an alien?”

 

“I am a God,” came the automatic, arrogant reply.

 

“Loki: God of Lies, Chaos, Mischief, and Fire,” Clint fired back, and the Jotun stared in mild wonderment at the small human. 

 

“Yes.”

 

The boy blinked. “Okay.”

 

The simple statement floored him, having expecting something more. “Okay?”

 

He gave a single decisive nod in reply. “Yup. Now finish the story.”

 

“I'm sorry?” Not getting the reactions he'd expected and dreaded, Loki was confused.

 

“Tell us how Coulson and I fit in to all of this. I can tell it's gonna be bad – or you would have started with us. So, just do it quick – like ripping off a band-aid.”

 

Loki shuddered and tried to shrink away, but Clint held firm. Amazing how even as a child the boy missed nothing. “I...” he licked his lips nervously, straightened, and started again, his voice a near monotone. “I tricked Coulson and stabbed him through the chest with the scepter. I left him to die. He told me I would lose, said I lacked conviction, and then blasted me through several bulkheads with an experimental weapon based on one of my father's defenses.”

 

“Was this before or after Banner tossed you around?” Coulson asked in a calm voice of polite interest.

 

“Before. I thought I had killed you.” He locked gazes with the other man. “I'm glad I was wrong. You're a worthy opponent, Phil Coulson. But you make a more formidable ally.” Coulson nodded in response, his expression serene.

 

“And me?” There was curiosity there and a hint of fear in the soft voice.

 

Loki took a deep breath, steeling himself. This would be the most difficult of confessions. “Yours was the first voice I heard while in transit. 'Doors open both ways,' you'd warned. Alert and ready, you kept your Director from harm, firing upon me without fear. You were the first I turned with the scepter. I decided that you had to be the commander of my army. You had such heart, my Hawk.” Clint's eyes, though filled with trepidation, gazed steadily back at him. “It's that heart that saved you. That loyalty and devotion you hold towards those you call your own.”

 

“How so?” Loki had to smile at the image the boy made. Clint had his head cocked, birdlike, eye focused intently upon the magic user, trembling, but refusing to back down. Every inch the fierce hawk that had drawn him in to begin with.

 

“I didn't realize at first exactly who I had captured. Clint Barton, Agent of SHIELD. Hawkeye, marksman extraordinaire. A man who never missed and whose underground connections your superiors could only dream about. You struggled beneath my control and because I struggled as well, the control was … flawed. You had to obey my commands, but as I could not specify every detail, you found yourself free to make certain choices.”

 

The trembling had increased, but Clint had not pulled away as Loki had feared. “How do you know this?”

 

“The tesseract?” Coulson guessed.

 

Loki nodded, not taking his gaze from Clint. “It formed a bond between myself and those taken over by the scepter. The strongest with you, Clint, as you were the first. Not quite mind reading, I could, however, sense your intentions.”

 

“I hurt a lot of people. Didn't I?” The tone so forlorn, Loki felt his chest constrict.

 

He turned, grasping the boy by the upper arms, his expression earnest, trying by sheer will to remove the devastation within his eyes. “You are not at fault, my Hawk. With any other person, it would have been a bloodbath.” Clint looked unconvinced. Loki tightened his grasp, choking down the urge to shake the boy to make him see, not wanting to frighten him any further. “The soldiers you recruited for me, though dangerous, were not the worst of those you could have brought in. The scientists, though competent, were not the most brilliant you had access to. From the very beginning, you aimed for non-lethal takedowns and pot shots when you could afford to. Swift and merciful deaths when you could not. The attack on the helicarrier could have been so much worse had a lesser man been in charge. Only one engine went down, and in such a way where it could be repaired. The explosion on the bridge deliberately aimed in the one spot where it did the least amount of damage. When confronted by your partner, you held back, allowing her to knock you out, which freed you from my control.” He brushed hair from Clint's overly bright eyes. “Even reeling from what had happened, you still had the strength to help stop the invading army and close the portal.” He gave a self-depreciating smile. “You even shot an exploding arrow at me that tossed me onto the building where Dr. Banner soon met with me.” Loki needed Clint to believe him. “It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.”

 

He loosened his grip and Clint slumped, half leaning on the two of them – eyes hooded, drawing his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs, chin on his knees. Loki wondered, too late, whether this would be too much for the child – the final push over already stretched limits. He shot a nervous glance over at Coulson, easily reading the concern there.

 

Coulson raised a brow. “How much were you holding back?”

 

Loki met Coulson's eyes with a dead stare, causing the man to shiver faintly. “Had the desire been truly my own – Midgard would be mine. I assure you, had circumstances been different, we never would have been in that situation.”

 

“Extraordinary situations require extraordinary reactions.” Clint's murmur drew their attention.

 

“You're right,” Coulson's voice was soothing. “Where did you hear that from?”

 

Clint straightened up a bit. “Mommy Fortuna, the Fortune Teller at the circus.” He didn't go into any further explanation, but Loki could feel most of the tension drain out of the small form. “I really did everything I could?”

 

Loki nodded, expression serious. “You did more to resist than expected.”

 

Clint looked over at Coulson. “Not my fault?”

 

Coulson shook his head, “You can't be held responsible for your actions when magically brainwashed.”

 

Another pause, then Clint drew in a deep breath, eyes raised to meet Loki's. “Well, if it's not my fault – then it can't be your fault, either.” 

 

He wanted to protest, his situation wasn't the same at all. Loki had agreed to help the Chitauri destroy Midgard in a misguided attempt at getting back at Thor before he even had possession of the scepter. But denying himself absolution would keep Clint from absolving himself.

 

“Besides,” Coulson added, as if reading his mind. “You said it yourself; you were coerced through pretty lies and horrible agony. Left to your own devices, would you have done the same?”

 

Loki shook his head slowly. No, he would not. His way was the subtle art of barbed tongue, illusion, and trickery, not brute force. He would have slid like a shadow behind the scenes, only being bright and flashy when it meant the opposition confronted an illusion. He had no need of ruling Midgard – not when he could have been the power behind the throne back on Asgard as Thor's advisor. He may envy his brother, at times even hate him, but he had no true desire to harm the people of Midgard. Perhaps … perhaps he could forgive himself for what had occurred ... even if none of his family forgave him.

 

The world shifted on its axis, and Loki shut his eyes at the dizzying display.

 

888

888

 

Clint blinked open his eyes. He found himself back on the crossbeam, Coulson grasping right shoulder, one of Loki's hands on his left shoulder with the other practically stapled to his side. He could hear the others moving about below, dealing with the people who'd either been killed or knocked out, it was like no time had passed at all while they had been in that blue landscape.

 

He twisted slightly, bracing himself for an influx of pain. It never happened. He felt a deep ache, as he did when he'd overworked himself during training, but the sharp burning sensation had disappeared. He took a breath to speak, “Did...” he couldn't finish his statement. The wound might have healed, but the blood remained within his lungs. He choked and coughed, vaguely hearing Loki's cry of alarm as he helped him lean forward. Coulson wrapped an arm around his shoulders and back, supporting him as the coughing turned into violent bouts of vomiting. The muscles in his stomach and chest clenched, and he couldn't catch his breath. To his embarrassment, tears dripped down his cheeks, mixing with snot from his nose; his body felt like it was trying to flip itself inside out. The amount of blood spewing onto the crossbeam terrified him. Was he going to die after all? 

 

A hand cupped the back of his neck, carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, distracting him from the pain. Another hand rubbed small circles along his back, soothing the muscles, calming the pain-inducing vomiting. Two voices spoke in his ear, each giving reassurances: It's okay. You're going to be fine. This will be over soon. Calm down. Take deep breaths. He thought he heard Coulson ask for Banner to bring up a clean set of clothes, but to not let Steve up just yet. Someone held a water bottle to his lips, urging him to rinse his mouth out before taking small sips. Clint let the two support him for a long moment, then his natural resiliency stepped forward. Recovering some, Clint ripped off the sleeve of his sweatshirt, poured water over it, and mopped his face, blowing his nose and trying to get rid of the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. “Shit.”

 

He was tired. Physically and emotionally. He'd always prided himself on being able to roll with the punches, but so much had happened in such a short amount of time. All he really wanted to do was curl up somewhere and sleep for a week. He grimaced and plucked fretfully at his ruined shirt, the soaked material stuck to his skin and he cringed at the feeling. Vibrations beneath his knees let him know of Banner's approach along the crossbeams. Eyes at half-mast, he didn't protest as the others manhandled him out of his shirt. Using the ruined material, he swiped half-heartedly at the blood, nose wrinkling at the smell. A semi-stifled gasp brought his attention outward from himself.

 

Banner knelt before him, his gaze one of horrified sympathy. Clint fancied he saw a green shimmer within the doctor's dark orbs. He knew he didn't invent the anger that flared. He could easily imagine the picture he made kneeling upon the narrow beam; thin, blood-soaked, parchment pale, fist sized bruises standing out starkly along his torso and arms. Banner's hands hovered uncertainly over his skin. “I have some medical training. May I?”

 

Head tilted to one side, Clint nodded in bemusement. Few adults had ever noticed his injuries in the past, and few still had been willing to do something about it. None had asked if he felt comfortable under their care, so this was a novelty. With gentle, but sure motions, Banner skimmed over the bruises, tested the ribs, and inspected the bullet wound which had reduced itself from a gaping hole to a circular scar still red and tender. “How's your breathing? How do your lungs feel?”

 

“Like I'm trying to breath underwater.” He couldn't lie, everyone could hear the rasp each time he inhaled.

 

“If you feel the need to cough, don't suppress it. You need to get as much gunk out of you lungs as you can. Your ribs, your arms?”

 

He answered the unspoken question. “Guards weren't too happy with me. Everything else is just a dull ache, now. I can keep up.”

 

A gentle smile. “I have no doubt about that. I just don't want anything to deteriorate to the point that we can't help you.” He lightly traced over a few scars along his arms and torso. “And these?”

 

“Sword practice.”

 

He could feel the surprise from the three adults. “Sword practice?” Coulson repeated.

 

Clint nodded, shrugging with one shoulder. “I'm part of the sword act in the circus, though I got my own show doing archery. That's what I'm the best at.” He couldn't help the hint of pride that colored his words.

 

He stiffened slightly as he felt Loki ghost over a few scars along his lower back. “And these?” Loki's voice sounded cold and clipped, almost disinterested, but Clint could feel the anger that radiated off him. He shifted away from the contact, turning to look at him over his shoulder. “Not all foster homes are very nice. There's a reason I live at the circus now.” Green eyes grew even colder and Clint sighed, not wanting to deal with overprotective urges. “It's not like it's that big of a deal. They can't ever do anything to anyone anymore.” He shuffled on his knees and grabbed the clothes Banner provided, ignoring the others through long practice. He felt better once the shirt hid his scars from view, though the material engulfed him. The shirt came down to his thighs, allowing him to shuck off the pants and exchange them without flashing everyone. He'd just finished dressing as Selvig and Steve arrived. “Any ideas how we're getting out of here? I don't know how long that door's going to last.”

 

A steady thudding could be heard from the direction of the sealed doors as those outside tried to batter their way inside.

 

“How'd you get in? Can we leave the same way?” Selvig asked.

 

Clint tore a strip of tape and wrapped it around a cuff, keeping the fabric from falling over his hand. He pointed toward a vent even smaller than the others found in the installation. Selvig narrowed his eyes, glancing between the opening and Clint's form. “How? That's so small, I'm not even sure Steve could easily fit in there.”

 

“Contortionist, too?” Coulson queried.

 

Clint shrugged, a faint smile on his face. “A bit. Wasn't too hard. Had to dislocate my shoulder. But, yeah, other than Steve, no one else will make it that way.”

 

“Can we lift a panel or something? Get into the ceiling, maybe?” Banner winced as a gun fired into the door. A muffled yelp as it ricocheted produced feral grins among the fugitives.

 

Clint shook his head, “First thing I checked. It's all metal.”

 

“What about that?” Steve pointed at the large fan in the center of the ceiling.

 

Coulson peered at the cover. “We need to get those screws out.”

 

Looking over from where he sat transferring supplies from his ruined clothing to the ones Banner provided, Clint tossed an object. “Head's up.”

 

Coulson caught it in mid-air, a grin on his face as he brandished the screwdriver and attacked the cover with a vengeance.

 

Coughing, Clint closed his eyes, wincing as the motion sparked stars behind his lids. Opening them, he found Loki had moved closer to help him sort through the supplies. Green eyes appraised him, Clint quirked a smile, too tired to do much more. He had a feeling things would get worse before they got better, and he'd learned to listen to those feelings.

 

888

888

 

Phil popped the vent, dancing out of the way as it swung out on hinges. The blades spun dangerously fast and he frowned as he examined the casing. “I can't get to the wires while it's spinning. Damn it, we have to shut it down at the controls.”

 

“Where's the control panel?” Banner shifted closer in order to look for himself.

 

Phil furrowed his brow, trying to remember if he'd seen the controls earlier. “It's part of the console near the door.”

 

Automatically, several pairs of eyes swung in that direction, wincing in unison as the door shuddered, shook, and slid open about an inch. Through the gap, they could see a soldier angrily trying to jam the barrel of his pistol in through the opening. 

 

Selvig dropped to hug the beam, peering cautiously over the edge at the console in question. “Do you know what type? Was it a dial, push button, switch? Did it need a code or a key?”

 

A bullet winged through the air, coming nowhere close, but still causing everyone to mimic the doctor. “Push button.” He mind whirled, trying to come up with a plan.

 

“Someone's going to have to climb down. We won't be able to get out, otherwise.” Phil hated to admit it, but Selvig had a point. Unless someone turned off the fan and they escaped through the ductwork, they were going to be killed. Another bullet rang out. “I'm closest. I'll do it.” Phil could read the determination in the older man's eyes and nodded. Selvig started to army crawl along the beam.

 

Clint grabbed his sleeve, halting his progress. “Wait. Which button is it?”

 

Phil glared at the boy. “Forget it. You're not going. You can barely stand.”

 

The look of utter disdain on the boy's face set him back. “Do I look stupid to you? I'm trying to make sure no one has to go down. Now, just answer the question.”

 

“Third in from the left. What are you going to do?”

 

The door slid open another half inch and the soldier crammed his hand through the gap; his angle much improved, his next shot hit the underside of the beam they clung to. Clint hefted the last glass vial in his hand, rose to his knees, and sent the vial hurtling through the air. It hit the very edge of the gap, shattering and sending glass and bleach into the soldier's eyes. The man screamed, dropping the pistol, but in his panic, his hand remained stuck in the gap. Phil watched in amazement as, face set in a grim expression, Clint grabbed a paperweight, pivoted smoothly, and sent it flying toward the control panel. A loud crack sounded, the fan's engine whined to a stop, and the blades began to slow. 

 

Clint dropped back on his haunches, one arm wrapped around his ribs, the other covering his mouth as he coughed in harsh, biting barks. Between coughs, a muttered litany of swearing fell from his lips. Loki held him close, to keep him from losing his balance, his expression closed off, but Phil recognized masked panic and anger when he saw it; he felt it himself.

 

His own expression set in harsh, angry lines, he covered his hands with his sleeves, determined to stop the fan, wanting to get everyone out of there as quickly as possible. He jumped back in shock, windmilling his arms to keep his balance, when with a growl, Banner surged forward and punched the center of the fan, crumpling the metal up and inward like it was cardboard, stopping the fan and causing one of the blades to detach.

 

Banner's eyes, a bright, bright green, widened almost comically before swiftly fading back into brown as the man stared at his hand in shock and some fear. “What...? What did they do to me?”

 

“What do you mean?” Phil's stood still, looking as non-threatening as possible.

 

“They … they kept injecting me with something. Every day, around the same time. It's how I kept track of the days. They wouldn't tell me what it was for – would just smirk and take readings.” His hands shook and he tucked them beneath his arms.

 

“Did you get an injection today?”

 

The doctor shook his head, looking lost and bewildered. “The men in the elevator we encountered were the ones who'd bring me up to one of the labs for the injections.” He ran a hand over his face. “What did they do?”

 

“It's a long story, Doctor Banner. I promise to explain it all in detail once we're someplace a bit safer. Just … try not to get angry.” He winced at the awkward response as well as the look of betrayal in Banner's expression.

 

“You knew? You know what they did?” His eyes flashed green and Phil very carefully let none of his panic show.

 

“Only what I found in the files I managed to get a hold of. Please, Dr. Banner. We need to get out of here. The boys won't survive if we're caught.” That caught the man's attention and Banner glanced guiltily at the others.

 

Loki had a calculating expression, tempered with hidden fear. Phil figured if Banner's suppressor was failing, then the one on the magic-user might soon, as well; Loki was probably remembering his last encounter with Banner. Phil saw that Clint had his head resting on Loki's shoulder, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, but he didn't seem shocked or alarmed. Phil guessed the boy had seen similar feats of strength in the circus. Selvig looked wary, but he didn't look like he planned to run screaming, especially while still in hostile hands. Steve's mouth had dropped open, his eyes wide with awe. “Wow! Are you like Superman? Can you fly, too?”

 

“Um, I don't know.” Banner sounded uncomfortable. “I've never done anything like that before.”

 

A swift glance at the door showed several sets of fingers grasping the door to force it open. They didn't have any more time. “Let's get moving. Climb on up and head to the right. I figure it will either lead to a central location where we can regroup, or to an external exhaust port.” If Banner lost control, it would be nearly impossible for him to turn around within the narrow confines of the air duct and attack them. “I'll go up second. Dr. Selvig, if you'll boost up the others and take rear guard?”

 

Selvig nodded and the six quickly scrambled up into the air duct.

 

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Loki hated how dark the ventilation shaft was – it reminded him too much of his fall from the Bi-frost. As they traveled, he ignored the way each frequently banged into the sides of the narrow tunnel, the space only just large enough for the adults to comfortably crawl in their hands and knees, and focused inward. In his mind's eye, he could see the center of his magic, a bright glowing flame; the suppressor like a slick glass wall keeping him from accessing it.

 

Metaphorically slamming himself up against it did nothing but garner a headache. Brute force would not suffice; he would have to find another way. He knew it could be done. After all, Banner had found a chink in the armor, and he hadn't even known there was something to struggle against.

 

Maybe that was the key. He let his consciousness flow across the barrier like water, surrounding it, probing at every square inch, searching for a seam or even the tiniest of openings. There, near the base, nearly invisible; a pinprick where all the edges met. Carefully, carefully, he seeped his consciousness in, smirking as he connected to his magic. A tenuous connection, but one he could feel strengthen the longer he held on. The pinprick opening widened.

 

To test things, Loki started with a small spell – foxfire. The most basic of spells, it was only good for low lever illumination. The area around him began to glow and he gave a please smile. It was a start. The others turned their heads at the light. “Thank you,” Steve chirped.

 

“Maybe now we can make better time? Humn?” He kept the tone just this side of snide and caught the smirk Clint shot him.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry. Are we slowing you down?”

 

Loki would have said yes, only he was well aware of the younger boy's growing exhaustion. He tried to lighten the mood. “You know me, nothing I like more than a leisurely stroll through the ceiling of a hostile base.”

 

“Must feel right at home, then.” Clint's bark of laughter turned into a cough. He had to pause, head dangling below his shoulders as he tried to catch his breath. His breathing still rattled in his chest, but sounded better than when they began. Loki grasped the boy's ankle, giving him emotional support at least, carefully sending healing energy through the skin contact. He wished he could do more, but until the barrier fell, he could only do these small things. They'd have to be enough.

 

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“Damn it,” Banner's voice echoed harshly against the metal walls of the air duct and the line came to a sudden, abrupt halt. 

 

The group was already on edge; they'd heard no indications of pursuit through the ducts from the HYDRA agents and they didn't know if that meant they were being tracked and would wind up in a trap, if there was a plan to cut through the duct in order to get to them, or if things were in preparation to send some kind of incapacitating gas through the ductwork to take them all down or out. The claustrophobic conditions and the way everyone tensed each time Clint had to cough didn't help matters any, either.

 

“What's wrong?” Phil couldn't help the strain in his voice. As time passed without anything overt occurring, he'd found himself becoming more tense and uncomfortable.

 

“There's a grate blocking the way. I can tell that it leads to some sort of maintenance junction. There's a hatch near the center for someone to come up, and a lever of some sort that probably opens the grate, but I can't reach it.”

 

“Any openings in the grate itself?”

 

“Yes, but I don't think any of us can get through it.”

 

“Can you slide over so I can see?” Banner turned onto his side, pushing his back against the wall while Phil squeezed past, ignoring how his heart sped up and his skin grew clammy at the proximity. If Banner should lose control... He assessed the opening, thinking quickly. “Steve, could you come up here, please?”

 

The skinny eleven year old squirmed past the two adults; Phil caught the question in bright blue eyes. “Think you can squeeze through there and pull the lever on the other side?”

 

Steve stared at the tiny opening, “I can try.”

 

“That's the spirit.” Phil couldn't resist ruffling the blond hair. 

 

While Steve set about the slow task of easing himself through the grate, Phil glanced over his shoulder at the others. From the soft blue glow of Loki's spell, he could see that Clint had chosen to use the time to rest. Loki had the younger boy half on his lap, arm wrapped securely around thin shoulders, a hand carding through dusty blond hair. The coughing had eased, and the pain-pinched look had faded, but Phil had a feeling they weren't out of the woods, just yet. Selvig glanced up, giving a nod of acknowledgment, “Everything still sounds quiet back here. How are we doing?”

 

Phil shot a look at the grate; Steve had managed to get his other shoulder through. He inched forward, getting stuck at chest level. Phil noted that the boy held his breath. “Exhale, Steve. Let the air out.” Steve did so and the rest of him soon slipped through with ease. “We're almost there,” he called back over his shoulder at the others.

 

Steve made it to the other side and crawled over to the lever. Pushing upon it, he easily shoved it over and the grate slid upward.

 

Phil put his hands in front of him and pushed himself backwards, giving Banner room to crawl forward. “Listen at the hatch to see if you can hear anyone. If it sounds clear, we'll try going down that way.”

 

Banner nodded and moved to join Steve. Phil turned to call to the others when he heard the horrible shriek of stressed metal, followed by a crash and startled yelps. Banging his head on the top of the duct, Phil scrambled toward the large hole in the flooring. “Steve? Banner?” A few screams from below told Phil that the situation had gone critical. A few gunshots sounded, then a loud roar of rage turned Phil's blood to ice. A scream of terror was followed by the sound of a large object being repeatedly slammed against the wall. “STEVE!”

 

“Um... I'm okay.” He almost couldn't hear the boy over the crashing and banging going on. Peering over the jagged edge, Phil saw that the two had fallen into what looked like a monitoring station. Monitors lined one wall; a few showed hallways and labs while the rest had been smashed. Two guards lay like rag dolls, limbs twisted at odd angles. Phil felt his stomach roll at the sight.

 

His vision filled with green and his breath caught in his throat when the creature Banner had transformed into stared him right in the face, a growl upon his lips, and rage dancing in green eyes. One hand rose and Phil stifled a flinch, though he thought he heard a gasp from one of the others behind him at the sight of the large green appendage. Inches from his head, the hand paused, large nostrils flared as Banner ~sniffed~ him.

 

Confusion now warred with rage. “Suit-man?” He shook his head. “Not be Suit-man. Suit-man dead. Hulk confused.” He sniffed again. “Smell like Suit-man.”

 

He raised a hand and tapped his chest. “Phil. Phil Coulson.”

 

A careful, slow nod, and the rage dimmed. “Suit-man,” he stated with acceptance. Then, in a tone of urgency, “Come. Why Flag-man so small?” Before he could respond, Phil found himself lifted out of the air duct and set on the floor of the monitoring station room facing a wide-eyed Steve.

 

“You alright, Steve?”

 

A shaky nod. “Flag-man?” he asked, gaze flickering between Phil and the Hulk.

 

“It's a long story.” He glanced up at Hulk. “Can the others come down?”

 

The Hulk blinked and looked up at the hole. “Others? Tin-man?” He sniffed, frowning. “No. No Tin-man.” Another sniff and the expression brightened. “Hawk! Hawk-friend!” The creature again stuck his head back up into the ceiling. Phil only had a second to recognize the dropping sensation in his stomach as a snarl reverberated throughout the room. “PUNY GOD!”

 

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The screech of metal woke Clint from his half-doze. He blinked sleepy eyes at Loki wondering when he'd decided using the older boy as a mattress was a good idea. Loki's expression told him nothing and he was immediately distracted by the distinctive sound of gunshots. An enraged growl sent shivers down his spine, and he knew he didn't imagine the hint of fear that entered Loki's crimson eyes. Fully awake now, he turned in time to see a large green hand reach out of a hole in the vent's flooring. Loki gave a small gasp that Clint was not ashamed to admit to echoing.

 

A sound like a large dog sniffing could be heard, then a loud, growly voice stated with confusion, “Suit-man? Not be Suit-man. Suit-man dead. Hulk confused.” Clint exchanged a glance with Loki, who gave a near-imperceptible nod. Another careful sniff. “Smell like Suit-man.”

 

Clint heard Coulson say, “Phil. Phil Coulson.”

 

Due to the narrow confines, Clint couldn't really see what was going on. He heard, “Suit-man,” stated with acceptance; and then, -in a tone of urgency, “Come. Why Flag-man so small?” The large hand grasped Coulson and pulled him out of the air duct. Scrambling up on his hands and knees, Clint scurried over to the hole himself, dodging Selvig's grasp and ignoring Loki's startled exclamation. Looking down, Clint could see the large creature, the Hulk, standing off to one side, arms dangling, hands convulsively opening and closing. Steve huddled against the wall, looking a bit wide-eyed, with Phil standing protectively beside him. Clint didn't blame him, he could see what was left of two guards lying about the room.

 

“You alright, Steve?”

 

A shaky nod. “Flag-man?” he asked, gaze flickering between Phil and the Hulk.

 

“It's a long story.” Coulson glanced up at Hulk. “Can the others come down?” Clint quickly backed away from the edge in foreboding.

 

“Others? Tin-man here?” More sniffing. “No. No Tin-man.” Another sniff, and the voice sounded nearly happy. “Hawk! Hawk-friend!” The creature again stuck his head back up into the ceiling. Clint braced himself, but couldn't help the tremor in his limbs at the close up sight of the Hulk's large head blocking out the light. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. He could feel Loki's hand on his shoulder, giving and taking comfort. His heart banged frantically in his chest. The Hulk looked at him, what could be a smile upon his face. At seeing him, the smile fell, confused. Then, the creature focused past him. It's expression darkened and a snarl reverberated throughout the vent, making his ears ache at the sound. “PUNY GOD!”

 

Two hands came up, further ripping into the duct, as the creature tried to tear its way to Loki. Rising to his knees, arms wide and braced against the sides, head bent practically double due to the ceiling of the vent, Clint physically barred the way. “NO!”

 

The Hulk stopped in mid-roar, face scrunched up in confusion. “Bad man!” he wailed, one hand pointing at Loki, while the other curled around the edge of the duct that had easily withstood holding up nearly two hundred pounds of people crossing over it, but bent and crumpled within the green grip.

 

“No, he isn't.” Clint remembered the discussion, how Loki had been tricked into hurting so many people. “Somebody else set him up.” He felt Loki's grip tighten as the older boy stiffened in shock.

 

The expression on Hulk's face still looked confused. “No Bad Man?”

 

Clint shook his head, “No. And I'm not going to let you hurt him.” He put on his most determined looking face, hiding just how fucking scared out of his mind he was. Hulk could smoosh him without even blinking if he felt like it, but Clint didn't move.

 

Hulk grunted and made as if to shove past Clint, but paused before actually connecting. The two stared at one another for what felt like forever. Clint wrinkled his nose at a huff from the beast that sent his bangs flying, but continued to hold his pose. Finally, Hulk made a sound that was half snort, half laugh. Before he could do anything to avoid the reach, Hulk curled his fingers around Clint, pulling him down through the hole. Trying not to hyperventilate, it took everything he had to keep his shriek from escaping at the motion. A moment later, Clint found himself sitting in the center of the green palm, blinking in the light, staring up into a serious expression. “Hawk-friend tiny, but still just as brave. Hawk say no hurt Bad Man.” A huge sigh, “Hulk no smash Puny God.”

 

“Um... thanks?” The creature lowered him to the ground and he startled a bit at a touch to his shoulder. Coulson's smile looked particularly bland as he helped him to his feet. Clint wobbled a bit, quietly grateful as Steve slid over, wrapping his arms around his waist.

 

Selvig dropped from the ceiling, eyes wide in shock at first, but soon he gave in to scientific curiosity. “The mass conversion should be impossible...” he started muttering.

 

“Hulk?” Coulson drew the creature's attention. “We're being held prisoner and need to escape. Can you help?”

 

“Hulk help Suit-man, Flag-man, and Hawk-friend.” With brutal, terrifyingly casual strength, the Hulk opened the door, taking out the reinforced frame and part of the wall with it. Filling the doorway, he absorbed several bullets before dashing down the hall with a roar. He moved impossibly fast for something of his size; they could hear the screams of soldiers.

 

“Let's go,” Coulson said making Steve climb up onto his back. “We don't want to lose him.”

 

Though Hulk said he wouldn't 'smash' Loki, Clint made sure to put himself between the two. Loki didn't cringe or cower, but somehow managed to make himself seem smaller. He moved up behind Clint, one hand on his shoulder, and practically disappeared from view. Interesting trick since Loki towered over him by several inches and was blue to boot. As long as he stayed quiet, Hulk ignored Loki.

 

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At a junction, during a brief pause while Coulson took care of a soldier that arrived after the Hulk had left the area, Loki cast an appraising look over Clint. He could feel the boy's exhaustion at a bone-deep level. He cocked his head, continuing his evaluation, pleased that the injuries had mostly healed. He placed a hand on Clint's shoulder to garner his attention and cast a significant look at where Steve perched on Coulson's back. “Climb up.” At Clint's hesitation, he continued, “It's not shameful to ask for or accept help.” He knew how fiercely his Hawk valued his independence. It was one of the main reasons Loki feared Barton would never accept his apology – no matter how heart-felt; however, they would need to move more quickly if they wanted to keep pace with the Hulk. Loki smirked, “Besides, Banner's alter-ego would hesitate to bash me about if I had you so near.”

 

Clint raised an eyebrow, a faint hint of a smirk of his own upon his lips, but acquiesced. Though slightly taller and broader than Steve, Clint didn't weigh much more than the eleven year old. Loki wouldn't have any problem carrying the boy, no matter the distance. Legs and arms wrapped tightly around him, but did not hinder his movements.

 

The Hulk had become annoyed with the twists and turns of the corridors and had started tearing a straight path through the walls. They passed through offices and labs, dormitories and possibly the cafeteria. After a whispered suggestion, Loki paused long enough to grab up a few portable food items.

 

Either the Hulk had dealt with all of the staff, or the remainder had wisely hidden from view. They met with no other resistance and twenty minutes after Banner's transformation they found themselves breathing fresh air. Coulson pointed in a direction and they quickly scurried into the woods. “I spotted a map earlier. The nearest town is thirty miles north of here. About a mile northeast runs a stream. We can follow it nearly the whole way.”

 

“Thirty miles?” Loki frowned. With his magic, they could be there in a literal blink of an eye. On foot, and in their condition, it would take considerably longer. A day, perhaps two if they had to hide from pursuit. 

 

“At least we'll have fresh water,” Selvig soothed. “But we only have a few hours of daylight, and I can feel a chill in the air. Tonight's going to be cold. We're going to need shelter.”

 

Coulson hefted Steve higher up on his back, wrapping his arms to hook beneath the boy's knees. “Let's get to the stream. It'll be easier to re-evaluate once there.”

 

Loki readjusted his own grip when it felt as if Clint would try to slip down. “Stay put. You're not heavy. Save your strength for later.” He waited until he felt the boy nod against his shoulder before stepping after Coulson. The Hulk had taken point. A moment later, a sharp scream broke through the air, the rattle of a rifle echoing harshly. 

 

“Do you think he's okay?” Steve looked worried, brushing hair out of his face as he peered through the trees.

 

“Dr. Banner is sturdier than a battle tank. It would take much more than a bullet to slow him down,” Loki responded, having seen the evidence himself.

 

“Think the rifle's any good?” Clint spoke up, aiming the question at either Coulson or Selvig.

 

Selvig responded. “We have a few pistols. It's been a while since I've shot a rifle. Do you think we'll need it?”

 

“Rifle's better if you want rabbit stew,” came the wearied response as Clint laid his head upon Loki's shoulder. Loki changed his gait, striding smoothly, hoping the soothing motion would lull the younger boy to sleep. He watched as Coulson exchanged words with Selvig and the doctor broke off briefly, heading toward where the scream had resounded. Selvig caught up to them later, his face a touch paler, but with the rifle slung over his shoulder along with some of the soldier's clothing and equipment.

 

Loki let his body move on autopilot while he delved within his mind, focusing on the barrier that kept him from his magic. The small opening had widened, but he sensed he needed to move slowly and precisely. If he proceeded too quickly or with too much force, the barrier would react violently, repelling him and sealing up tightly. If that occurred, there would be no telling when or if he would ever be able to breech the barrier and access his magic. He couldn't afford that – the closer they got to civilization, the sooner the other Avengers, and more specifically, his brother, would learn of the situation. That he was on Midgard and not in his prison cell on Asgard would not go over well with Thor. He wanted to have every advantage he could before that particular confrontation.

 

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	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Phil sighed in relief when they found the stream over an hour later; he'd feared he'd misread the map and had chosen the wrong direction. The need to move slowly due to bare feet and carrying children, as well as trying to conceal their tracks meant that it had taken longer than expected to traverse the single mile. His shoulders and back ached, and he eased Steve to the ground, gratefully stretching his arms up and over his head. He'd carried full packs before while in the Army, yet that experience had not prepared him for the reality of carrying a sixty-five pound body that rarely stayed still.

 

Kneeling beside the stream, he cupped his hands and brought the wonderfully cold water to his lips. From the corner of his eye, he could see Steve doing the same. Selvig had levered himself down onto the ground, hissing as he pulled a few sticker burrs from the soles of his feet, then dipping them into the water to sooth them.

 

The Hulk had crossed the stream several yards away, and now stood crouched beside the water, scooping it into his mouth, eyes flickering about, looking for threats.

 

Loki stood still, quietly speaking to Clint, gently waking him. After a moment, Clint raised his head, rubbed at his eyes, said something equally quiet, and slid down from his perch. Loki kept a guiding hand on the boy until he'd settled beside the stream, drinking water and splashing his face to further wake up. In a graceful move, Loki mimicked him.

 

Phil sat back on his haunches, eying the sky. They had, perhaps, another hour or so before sunset. He shivered as the breeze caught at his water-dampened shirt. “We need to find some place to sleep,” he half-muttered to himself. “Needs to be large enough for the six of us – well, five if Banner remains the Hulk, though I haven't the faintest idea where he would sleep.” His eyes flickered across the surroundings on both sides of the stream. “Needs to provide shelter from unwelcome eyes as well as the cold. I don't think we can risk a fire; too close to the installation for that.”

 

Clint stared absently at something that caught his eye, but its potential registered with Loki first. “That may provide sufficient shelter for the night.” Phil rose to his feet, stifling a groan as joints had begun stiffening. A hundred yards away a large tree had lost to age and gravity. A generous hollow lay beneath the half-exposed roots; blessedly free of any occupants. “It looks like we'll all fit.” He cast a worried look at the Hulk.

 

Loki, standing beside him, along with Clint, followed his gaze, “Give him time to calm down or exhaust himself and he'll revert.”

 

Phil blinked, having forgotten that Loki remembered much more than the rest of them and had information about each of them that they didn't. “So, he will turn back into Banner?”

 

“Yes. If I remember correctly, the transformation takes a lot out of him. He'll crash afterward and need to sleep for a few hours.” The mage grabbed the extra clothing taken from the soldier and tossed it to Phil. “He's a bit rough on his clothing. Hopefully, he'll fit into these. It's bad enough that we don't have shoes, he can't go around nearly naked, as well.”

 

Steve wandered over, staring down into the hollow. “If we line the bottom with leaves, it'll be more comfortable.” At the side looks he shrugged,” My mom used to do the same with old newspapers in the winter. Said the layers trapped body heat and it really did help keep us warm.”

 

“We could weave some branches together to cover, give us some camouflage,” Clint added.

 

“Can you do that?”

 

The boy nodded absently, his focus on the trees. “My brother and me used to do that all the time when out hunting.”

 

Loki looked surprised, brow creased, and Phil wondered at the expression.

 

“Okay. The four of you get the shelter ready. I'm going to see if I can hide some of our tracks, or at least muddy things up a bit.” The others nodded and Phil headed to the stream, wondering if he could convince the Hulk to lay a false trail.

 

He edged around a copse of trees and came to a dead halt. They'd left the Hulk splashing down stream. Phil could see the disturbances at the water's edge and it certainly looked as if six desperate people had plunged into the water and headed south. If they were careful in how they moved the next day, it would probably fool anyone who wasn't a tracker into thinking they had gone in that direction. What had him stopped cold, however, was the vision of the Hulk slowly transforming back into Dr. Banner. Lying curled up on his side, in the last ray of sunshine before the sun dipped entirely from view, the Hulk's skin slowly faded from a jade green into more fleshy tones. His body seemed to smoothly shrink and fold in on itself. Phil couldn't help but feel thankful that the transformation didn't appear painful.

 

Several minutes passed and Phil realized that Banner had fallen asleep. He waded across the shallow stream and crouched back on his haunches beside him, careful to keep some distance away. “Dr. Banner? Bruce? Can you hear me? Wake up, please.” He continued calling his name, rewarded a few minutes later by a low groan. Dark eyes, without even a hint of green, blinked up at him. Phil couldn't read the expression that flashed there, but he definitely heard the breathless, “Holy shit. You really are alive!”

 

Phil handed over the clothing and Banner absently put them on, not taking his eyes off Phil. “How is that possible? You were stabbed in the chest.” Banner's muttering was almost covered by the sound of the stream; he wasn't trying to be heard, just hypothesizing aloud. “Fury said you died.” A dark expression crossed his face but nothing turned green, Phil was pleased to note. “Of course, Fury lies. The man lies about everything, though, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes when the others find out. Steve will be incensed. Natasha just might pluck out his other eye. Tony will probably send a virus through the SHIELD's computer systems. Thor would call down lightning and I shudder to think what Clint would do … and you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, do you?”

 

Phil blinked as the small diatribe trailed off. “I take it you regained your memories.”

 

Banner nodded, expression calm, then gave a jaw-cracking yawn. Phil helped lever the scientist to his feet. “Come on. We've got shelter for the night. Something to eat and a few hours of sleep will do you a world of good.” He steadied the man, then led him to the downed tree. A netting of limbs and leaves over the roots effectively hid the hollow.

 

Clint met them at the entrance, giving a sharp look. “You look older.”

 

“I have regained my memories,” Banner admitted.

 

Head tilted, he scrutinized the scientist. “I don't think you look twenty years older, though. But, you might be the type that stays young looking for a long time.” He shrugged and waved them in. “We're having peanut butter and banana sandwiches for dinner.”

 

The two men followed, ducking beneath the camouflage. Inside, the cavern already felt warmer than the chilled air outside. Once settled, Phil blinked in surprise at how comfortable it was, despite the poking and scratching of the odd twig or pine needle. They each had two sandwiches, finishing the bread and peanut butter. Phil carefully saved the bag and jar, knowing they'd come in handy later.

 

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Loki woke the next morning to find Dr. Banner staring at him, a calculating, yet solemn look upon his face. “I think we need to have a talk.”

 

Loki pressed his lips together but began extricating himself from the tangle of limbs. Sometime during the night, both Clint and Steve had chosen him to sleep upon, their heads pillowed upon his shoulders and arms and legs flung over his own. A poke in the side had Steve rolling over with only a sleepy grumble. More careful with Clint, Loki brushed dusty blond hair off his forehead, marginally concerned when the movement didn't disrupt the boy's sleep. He ignored Banner's gaze while covering Clint with leaves to keep him warm; then, aware he was stalling, straightened up and moved out of the hollow, passing Selvig who still slept from taking middle watch.

 

Coulson knelt at the creek, rinsing out the jar. Banner joined him and the three silently regarded the area, avoiding each other's eyes, not sure where to begin.

 

“How much to you remember?” Banner stated, baldly.

 

Loki sighed; things were so much easier when he didn't care about these people and their opinions of him. “Everything. Whatever they gave us only changed my appearance, but didn't affect my memories.”

 

“Why not?” Coulson asked, looking curious but not accusatory.

 

“My principal abilities are shapeshifting and creating illusions. They locked down my magic, but whatever they concocted was for humans and I am not.”

 

“Why are you here” Banner locked gazes with him, a slight shimmer of green appearing in his eyes. “I thought you were incarcerated on Asgard?” Loki could practically hear the, 'Does Thor know you're loose?' in the man's growled tone.

 

Knowing it would infuriate the other, but not able to help himself, he shrugged his shoulders. “I got bored. I've been visiting Midguard for nearly a year, actively living here for the past six months.” He looked up, face set. “I only go back when someone checks on my cell.” He crossed his arms and gazed off into the trees, “They only visit once a month.” He winced internally, not wanting them to see how much it hurt that his own family wouldn't even speak with him.

 

Banner rubbed his forehead wearily, shooting a glance at Coulson. “You don't seem surprised.”

 

Coulson shrugged. “We've already had a conversation about most of this.”

 

A drawn out sigh. “You've caused a lot of grief, Loki. To a lot of people. Including close friends of mine.” Loki didn't miss the side-glance filled with confusion and awe that Banner sent at Coulson. “Thor took you back to Asgard to be punished. That you're free to continue your mischief...” Both Loki and Coulson took a few steps back as Banner's skin started turning green. The scientist took several deep breaths, trying to regain his calm. Skin returned to a normal tone and silent sighs expressed as the three felt the danger of Hulking out pass.

 

Loki frowned, absently chewing on his bottom lip. How could he explain and be believed? He knew – knew – that no one who had past dealings with him would believe he told the truth. His madness had known no bounds. There were too many lies and too much bad blood between them. Yet, Coulson's expression held only curiosity and confusion. “Why haven't you told your family what you told us?”

 

“They wouldn't listen.” He hated how small his voice sounded. “They barely allow me out of my gag within their presence. I've not had the opportunity to explain. And my letters are returned unopened.” He looked away. “They have decided I am guilty and would have nothing refute that claim.” If his tone was bitter, could they blame him?

 

“Explain, what, exactly?” Banner broke in, eyes narrowed as he tried to follow the conversation.

 

“Loki isn't to blame for what happened any more than Clint is, and for the same reasons.”

 

Banner quietly contemplated that statement. “Have you regained any of your memories of that time?” At the shake of a head, Banner frowned and Loki knew the doctor thought Coulson had been lied to and manipulated to believe Loki's claims. “This is the being that killed over eighty people in less than a week. That led an alien army to invade our world. The one who turned Clint from his true loyalties. The one that stabbed you.” His voice softened. “We thought you were … Fury said...” he trailed off, then took a breath. “It took a while before certain people were able to move on from what occurred in New York that day, but with time and a lot of support from the rest of us, they managed to put most of it behind them. It wasn't easy, and there were days we weren't sure we'd make it. So, you'll have to forgive me if I don't trust anything Loki is trying to sell.”

 

Coulson swallowed hard, his gaze unconsciously flickering back toward last night's shelter. “I understand how you feel. I can't explain exactly why I believe Loki. It has to do with the tesseract and its connection to us all.” Banner frowned but let Coulson continue. “It had an effect upon all of us in some form or another. It's the reason we're all here at this time. It sustained Steve through his years trapped in the ice. It made you lose control on the ship.”

 

“Helicarrier,” Banner murmured.

 

Coulson's face lit up, “They actually got that idea to work?” He shook his head, returning to his previous argument. “Despite being run through, the tesseract's energy kept me from dying,” he unconsciously rubbed at his chest and Loki wondered whether memories were returning after-all. “With Selvig, Clint, and Loki, it stole their will, leaving them subject to the will of others; Selvig and Clint to Loki, Loki to the leader of the Chitauri.” Banner still looked unconvinced. Coulson stared at him, face calm, but determined. “What do you know of Loki? What did his brother have to say about him?”

 

Startled, Banner glanced between the two, then frowned in thought. “Thor has always been Loki's greatest defender. He's been adamant that things aren't what they appear, but has a hard time getting anyone to truly listen.”

 

“What did he say?” Loki couldn't help but ask; for so long, he'd envied his brother, and while under the control of Thanos had hated him, but all he ever wanted was to be considered his equal. That Thor spoke up for him went beyond anything he could have hoped for.

 

“That your current actions and behaviors were odd. Out of character. You're a trickster. You prefer the shadows and being behind the scenes. You enjoy the spotlight only when you're the one in control and you always have a back-up plan in case things go awry. Leading an army, being part of that battle in the way you were,” Banner shook his head. “Thor said it wasn't something you'd willingly do.” He looked somewhat embarrassed, “Thor also said that even the events of New Mexico were a cry for attention, more of a tantrum than anything truly malicious. Despite the destruction and wanting Thor dead, there had been no human fatalities. He thought your fall from the Bifrost might have unhinged you somewhat, but that slaughtering people for the fun of it wasn't your style.” An odd expression crossed Banner's face, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Does the tesseract interfere with what a person saw?” He frowned at the phrasing. “Visually, I mean?” He floundered, waving a hand in an attempt to express himself. “When overtaken by the tesseract, it changed the color of a person's eyes. Would that color change cause someone to see things differently?”

 

Loki considered the question carefully. “Being under the influence of the tesseract allowed you to see versions of truth, depending on what truth the one in charge wanted you to see. But if you were looking at a red apple, you would see a red apple, not a golden pear. The color change was a … visible manifestation of the tesseract's power.” He tilted his head. “Why?”

 

Banner leaned closer, staring at the mage, his expression fierce, and his face set in hard lines. Loki took an unconscious step backward, eyes widening as he wondered if he would witness another transformation that would inevitably cause him pain. A long, long moment passed before Banner moved back, his expression now thoughtful. “A month after the whole … situation,” he began delicately, “Steve purchased a new shirt. It's not something he's been able to do for himself in the past and he was exceptionally pleased with the purchase. He showed it off to everyone, getting their opinions on it. Clint mentioned he didn't like it. When pressed, he admitted it was because it was the same color as your eyes.” He paused, expression clouding somewhat. “I remember Thor arguing that Clint must have been mistaken as Steve's shirt was an icy blue and his brother's eyes were an emerald green. Clint refused to back down and it took awhile before the tension between them subsided.” Banner crossed his arms, refocusing his attention on the mage, “When you were brought on board the Helicarrier, they marched you right past my workspace. You looked right at me when you passed. Your eyes were blue – not the electric icy-blue like Clint's had been, but definitely blue.”

 

Playing devil's advocate, Coulson asked, “Wouldn't they have changed back once he'd been knocked out of its influence? You would have noticed such a drastic change before sending him off to Asgard, wouldn't you?”

 

A slow shake of the head was the response. “Not necessarily. Natasha mentioned that it took over two hours before all the blue left Clint's eyes after she hit him. And he'd only been under, for what, nine days? If Loki had been under the influence longer, it makes sense that the color wouldn't have completely disappeared immediately, either.” he sighed. “And they did clap that gag on him pretty quickly.”

 

“Do you believe him?”

 

Another sigh, and Banner pinched the bridge of his nose, addressing the mage. “Let's say I'm less inclined to disbelieve, though I'm still a long way from reconciling what happened with this new information. But if I can forgive Clint for things beyond his control, it would behoove me to extend you the same courtesy.”

 

Loki nodded, trying to ignore the flare of hope that rose in his chest. Banner was but one and a mortal, at that. He needed to convince his Asgardian family. With Thor, there was a possibility. He still claimed to love him as a brother despite everything. (And, oh, there was ample evidence to condemn him, with little reason to trust or believe.) Even if he managed to bring Thor over to his side, he still needed to convince Odin. He shivered, wishing things had ended differently between himself and the All-Father. The rejection on the Bridge still stung and he had to blink hard to keep tears from forming. He raised a hand to scrub at his face and paused, staring at pale skin. He raised the other, blinking at the change. His Jotun features had retreated. It meant he had more access to his magic. It also explained Banner's earlier scrutiny. “My eyes?”

 

“Green,” Coulson affirmed.

 

“Is that what convinced you?” he asked Banner.

 

“Partly. You don't seem as manic as before. The Hulk noticed,” Banner admitted. “There was an edge around you in New York, like you were trying to jump out of your skin.” He studied Loki intently, and the mage tried not to fidget. “I don't get that feeling from you, now.”

 

“What happens now?”

 

“We try to stay out of reach of HYDRA if we can. Get to a town or someplace with means to communicate,” Coulson stated.

 

“I can contact Tony and have him retrieve us,” Banner added. “Better him and the others than SHIELD.” He gave Loki a level look. “They're not happy with you in the slightest and would probably shoot first and ask questions later.”

 

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Though offered, Clint and Steve turned down being carried. “We're fully capable of walking. No sense in tiring someone out unnecessarily.”

 

Coulson and Banner went in front, breaking the trail while conversing quietly. Coulson kept a pistol in hand, his eyes missing little as they moved farther from the HYDRA base and, hopefully, closer to a town. Loki drifted behind Clint and Steve who walked side by side. Selvig followed behind, rifle at the ready.

 

Something nagged at Clint as they traveled and he found himself darting furtive glances at the boy at his side. After about an hour of this, blue eyes stared back, a mild challenge in them. “Do I have something on my face or something? Why are you staring?” Though sharp, Steve kept his voice down, remembering the admonishment from earlier.

 

Clint locked gazes and the nagging thought finally clicked into place. “You got taller,” he murmured.

 

“What?” Steve looked taken aback.

 

“Taller. I couldn't figure out what was bothering me before. You're taller.”

 

Steve shook his head. “No, I'm not.”

 

Clint nodded, ignoring the protest. “Sure you are. Before, your nose came up to my chin. Now, we're eye to eye. Also, the tape I put on your cuffs and hems are further up your arms and legs.”

 

Loki moved closer, his expression one of interest. The change in skin and eye color had thrown Clint when he woke that morning, so used to the blue and red, that he had blinked in confusion at the milk pale complexion and emerald green eyes. It had taken a moment to reconcile with the new look. The mage glanced between the two boys, eyes measuring. “He's right. You are taller. Thinner in the face, too, like you're in the middle of a growth spurt.”

 

The conversation caught the attention of the others, Selvig moved forward while Coulson and Banner slowed in order to hear. “Wait,” Steve argued. “That can't be right. People don't grow so much overnight.”

 

Banner cocked his head, “The serum?” The question aimed at Coulson though his attention remained on Steve.

 

Coulson sighed, nodding in resignation. “According to the records I found, he's aging a year every night.”

 

“Hang on. I'm what?” The boy looked wild-eyed, gaze darting from face to face as the adults started talking around him; mostly trying to explain the situation to Selvig who argued against the concept.

 

Seeing that Steve was nearly at the point of hyperventilating, Clint tugged on his sleeve, pulling him slightly off balance to catch his attention. Steve automatically caught his footing and stumbled after him with Loki bracketing the boy. They steered him closer to the creek, setting him down beneath one of the trees. Clint rubbed circles along Steve's back, waiting silently until the younger boy settled his breathing and calmed down.

 

“What is going on?” his eyes begged for the truth.

 

“We're all supposed to be twenty years older,” Clint blurted. There really was no way to soften the blow, and he found telling uncomfortable truths was like removing a bandage, best done quickly. “The guys who had us did something to make us all younger.”

 

A petulant pout crossed Steve's face. He crossed his arms and glared at Clint. “Uh huh. Sure. Next you're gonna try to tell me that aliens are real.”

 

Loki looked amused. “What other reason could there be for me having blue skin, humn?”

 

At Steve's gobsmacked look, Clint nodded, though he tried to hide the laughter that wanted to bubble out at the expression. The blonde rubbed his forehead, brows drawn together. “Twenty years younger, huh?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“And I'm aging a year a day cause of some serum?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“And that would have been the reason they gave me a physical every morning?”

 

“Sounds about right.”

 

“What about you? Why aren't you getting older?”

 

Clint shrugged, looking at Loki for an answer.

 

“You are a special case. Clint was never given the serum you have.”

 

Steve shifted uncomfortably, picking up a handful of leaves and slowly shredding them, letting the pieces drift to cover his lap. “What does the serum do?”

 

“It made you tougher, stronger, faster, resistant to illness, and injuries heal quicker than normal. It's in your system, a part of you, and it's trying to combat whatever they gave us that made us younger. It's slow going, so can only fix a little of it each day, trying to bring you back to your proper age.”

 

Steve worried his bottom lip and lowered his voice, “I'm not going to turn into a monster like Doctor Banner, am I?”

 

The soft expression upon Loki's face suited him, and made him more approachable than the aloof air he normally carried. “No. I can assure you, you do not share the same malady as Dr. Banner.”

 

Steve blinked, “Oh. Okay.” He sat quietly for a long moment. “So, how old am I, then? Thirty-one?”

 

“Twenty-six, actually.” All three jumped, startled at the sound of Coulson's voice so close by. The man seated himself, legs outstretched, on a patch of grass nearby. “At least, according to the file I spotted.”

 

Clint didn't call Coulson out on the lie. Neither did Loki. After all, it proved difficult enough for the boy to cope with knowing he should be twenty years older and was going through an accelerated growth due to some unknown serum without adding the whole 'Captain America – seventy years out of time' scenario to the situation. “Lunch break?”

 

Coulson nodded, lips twisted in a slight grimace. “I think we nearly gave Dr. Selvig a brain aneurism, so, a short break is in order. I don't want to spend too much time though, so we're not starting a fire. We really should keep moving; I'd like to cover more distance before nightfall.”

 

“Okay. C'mon. Let's see if we can find anything edible.” Clint scrambled to his feet, holding a hand out to both Steve and Loki.

 

Steve grasped his hand, levering himself up. “How would we know?”

 

Loki looked around, his expression one of somber contemplation. “I know which plants would be of use if we were on Asgard, but not here on Midguard.”

 

“That's okay. We couldn't always afford to shop in town. One of the ladies in the circus was real big on natural foods and her husband was a survivalist. They tried to teach me some. Let's see how much I remember.” They pulled off long segments of bark from nearby trees to use as impromptu containers. He pointed at some weeds. “Dandelion greens make a good salad. Dig them up and rinse them off, they'll fill us up. Steve, you're in charge of gathering them, okay?”

 

“Got it.” The boy looked relieved to have a way to occupy himself.

 

“And myself?” Loki asked, looking completely willing to listen to Clint's directions.

 

Clint found some mushrooms, “See these? They're safe to eat. Those, however, are poisonous. See if you can find more of the first?” He pointed out a few other way of distinguishing the safe from the unsafe. Loki studied the two intently and headed off to locate more.

 

Walking among the trees, he gathered nuts from the trees he knew. The trees Clint didn't recognize he ignored, remembering Mommy Fortuna's warning that similar didn't mean safe. A smile crossed his face as he spotted a blackberry bush that had a late crop; Clint tasted one, glad that they were only slightly overripe.

 

The group quickly ate the scavenged meal, Banner smiling at the selection. “Good job. I'll set a snare tonight when we make camp, maybe catch a rabbit.”

 

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Bare feet became an issue on the third day. The path before them, filled with a combination of sticker burrs, sharp rocks, and splintered tree limbs, forced them to make a detour that took them a mile out of the way though a more hilly area. Halfway up a steep incline, disaster struck. Phil heard the startled cry and the crash of a body. He turned, heart in his throat. A rock had rolled out from beneath Dr. Selvig's foot sending the man sprawling. At the rear of the group, no one could reach him as he tumbled end over end to catch up against a tree trunk near the bottom. A sickening crack echoed through the air.

 

Scrambling down the hill, careful not to lose his own footing, Phil cursed beneath his breath as he noticed that Selvig wasn't moving. The scientist was unconscious, with a knot forming on his forehead; possibly a blessing as Phil did a quick examination.“Jesus Christ,” he blasphemed seeing the unnatural bend in the left leg. Bone poked out from the skin in a compound fracture, blood pooling beneath him. Dropping to his knees, he tore off the remains of the pant leg and tied it above the wound, creating a tourniquet to stop or at least slow the bleeding.

 

Banner landed beside him, taking in the situation at a glance. “Aw, hell,” the terse comment couldn't hide the borderline panic. “How far are we from town?”

 

Phil's mind re-calculated distances. “At the rate we're going? At least another two days. If we have to carry him, three, maybe four. Too far to have anyone run for help, and too dangerous.” He focused on Loki, brow raised in silent question.

 

The mage shrugged, an elegant gesture, as he joined them beside Selvig. “I can try.” One hand hovered over the wounded leg.

 

Phil pulled Banner back, giving Loki more room. Steve looked confused. “What's he going to do?”

 

“He's going to try and heal Selvig.” The tension in Banner had relaxed somewhat.

 

“He can do that?” there was awe evident in the thirteen year old's voice.

 

“He healed me,” Clint affirmed. His gaze stayed locked on the mage, body poised to help in anyway needed.

 

Brow furrowed, lips pressed together in concentration, the mage stared intently at the broken limb for a long moment. His lowered his hand and touched the leg, muttering words too softly for anyone to understand. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, the blood slowed to a trickle and in slow motion the bones withdrew back into the skin like a film run in reverse. He maintained the pose for a long moment before sinking back on his heels, face pale and lines of exhaustion etched into his face.

 

Returning to Selvig's side, Banner rinsed the limb, marveling at the near seamless restoration. “Fascinating.”

 

Loki leaned against Clint's shoulder, taking comfort in the warmth that radiated from the younger boy. He took the bottle of water offered, taking a long drink. He hadn't felt this tired after a healing in ages. “It's not completely healed. I don't have enough control and access, yet. Too much pressure will rebreak the bone, but the shards are back in place and won't shatter, and the blood vessels are intact. He'll need to rest and to replenish the lost blood, though.”

 

Steve had moved off while Loki healed Selvig and returned with a handful of mushroom and dandelions. “Mom always said that eating helps after a major shock. I have some for Dr. Selvig, too, when he wakes.”

 

“Good thinking,” Phil praised as he went about waking the scientist. He patted his cheeks and chaffed his wrists to encourage blood flow while Banner did the same with his feet and ankles. “We're going to need to immobilize the limb.”

 

Banner nodded and looked at the two hovering boys. “Think you can find a few long sticks we can use for a splint and a crutch?”

 

They nodded; Clint made sure Loki had his balance before regaining his feet. “We can look. C'mon, Steve.”

 

Selvig came to with a groan, eyes dazed with pain and confusion. “What happened?”

 

“You lost your footing and tumbled down the hill. Broke your leg and hit your head. Loki did what he could to heal you, but we're going to have to splint your leg and you'll need to try to keep as much pressure off the limb as possible.”

 

A grimace crossed his face. “I'm going to slow you down, even further.”

 

Phil could hear the implied statement of, 'You should consider leaving me behind.' He shook his head, gripping his shoulder.”We'll manage. Together. It's been three days. I don't think HYDRA is pursuing us. We'll get to town and get everyone taken care of.”

 

Steve returned first with two mid-length pieces of wood, handing them to Banner. “Where's Clint?” Phil asked, hyper-alert now that one member was down.

 

“He found something we can use to tie the branches. Said he'd be back in a minute.”

 

Sure enough, Clint returned with a long stick and a double handful of what looked like rope.

 

“What is that?”

 

“One of the trees has a type of moss that when you braid it is as strong as any rope you can buy in a store.”

 

Phil felt his lips twitch in a smile. “Another thing you learned at the circus?”

 

“No. One of my foster dads taught me.” He handed the rope to Banner and the stick to Selvig. “It's pretty sturdy. You can use it as a staff or walking stick since we don't have any crutches.”

 

Banner splinted the limb and Phil helped him lever Selvig to his feet. Testing the staff, Phil noted with satisfaction that the scientist would be able to move around with relative ease. Banner dug a hole with a knife and buried the bloodied soil, covering it with clean dirt and leaves to hide it from any pursuers.

 

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Clint's lips twisted in a wry smirk as he cut the last of the tape around Steve's wrists and ankles. The now fifteen year old returned the smile, one shoulder lifting in a shrug as if to say, 'So, what can you do?' “Good thing they gave us oversized clothing, huh? This would have been really awkward, otherwise.”

 

Clint sniggered. “True.” He shot a side-glance as he pulled off the tape. “No more piggy back rides when you're tired, though.”

 

The expression of mock-distress on the blond's face had Clint laughing, the sound ringing through the clearing and causing small smiles to appear on the others' faces.

 

“I'm going to end up sleeping for a week when we get back,” Steve admitted. “After I eat my weight in food.”

 

Clint nodded in sympathy. Steve's accelerated growth, though painless, had meant that he was constantly on the verge of starving as his body searched for the fuel it needed to replenish the energy used in growing. The others had held back a portion of their own meals in order to keep Steve from passing out. The boy hated that they were going without, but knew that there really wasn't much of a choice in the matter.

 

He handed him a handful of greens, smirking at the grimace. “Hey, I don't want to have to carry you when you pass out from hunger.”

 

“Think you could?” Steve teased, taking the dandelion weeds and popping them in his mouth, making a face at the bitter flavor.

 

“If I had to.” Another smirk, “Though, you're so tall now, I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't end up dragging parts of you on the ground in the process.”

 

“Fair enough, short stuff.” Steve ruffled his hair and Clint ducked away, a scowl on his face. Being the shortest, not to mention now the youngest, was seriously irritating him; especially since everyone felt it perfectly acceptable to mess with his hair. “Not you, too.”

 

“Sorry. I just can't help it.”

 

Brushing hair out of his face, he stepped back a bit, giving an exasperated look. “Try.”

 

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Aye, aye, sir.”

 

He stuck his tongue out in retaliation and moved up to Coulson. The Ranger lay on his stomach at the top of a slight rise surveying an unpaved road below them. Also on his belly, he looked at the road, trying to figure out what Coulson saw. “What's up?”

 

“This road wasn't on the map I saw. I don't know if that's because it's relatively new, or just not considered important.”

 

“How much farther do we have to go?”

 

“Two more miles and we reach the outskirts of the town.” He shook his head, “Well, if my calculation are accurate and we don't have anything else sending us on a detour.” He pointed at a portion of the road. “See that? Oil stain. Relatively fresh, maybe two or three days old. It headed north and came from the east, so it's unlikely it came from the HYDRA base.”

 

“How do you know which way it went?”

 

“See how you have a large drop with a partial tail? Due to the vehicle's movement, the tail points in the direction it was heading. It's the same if you've ever had to track a wounded animal, the blood trail is similar.”

 

“Oh,” Clint knew his voice sounded a bit flat.

 

They were quiet a moment, then Coulson cleared his throat. “I'm a bit surprised you didn't know that.” 

 

A sidelong look let Clint know that Coulson wasn't trying to be belittling, but genuinely curious. “It's been a very long time since I've only wounded an animal I hunted. Wounded meant you had to use another bullet to finish the job, or that you missed. Missing meant wasting bullets and daddy was very adamant that you didn't waste bullets.”

 

Coulson nodded solemnly, understanding without having to have it spelled out.

 

Clint continued. “Some of the foster families I lived with were the same. Waste meant spending money that they didn't have. Then, at the circus, arrows that went awry inevitably broke and replacing them cost money we didn't always have. If I couldn't make my own, I had to find a way to buy more or I couldn't be part of the show.” He went silent, remembering a few times how he'd been expected to earn the money needed. A shudder went through him and he was glad Coulson didn't react with anything other than a raised brow. He dragged his thoughts to their current situation. “Would it be quicker to stay on the road, keeping an ear and eye out for vehicles and hiding in the brush along the side until we can find what we need?”

 

“That was my thought.. Selvig needs a doctor for his leg and I'd feel better if we could all be checked for anything that we might have missed. There's really no telling what else we were given, or even what that serum might do to us.”

 

Clint rested his chin on his crossed wrists. “What do you think will happen once we're back?” He tried to keep his tone careless, but he truly feared what might happen once they returned to civilization. “I'm guessing, if twenty years have passed, I won't really have a place to return to. Either the circus no longer exists or they'd totally freak out at how young I am, again. And, no offense, but I don't have any plans on going to an orphanage or being some kind of science experiment while people examine me to 'fix' me.”

 

He felt Coulson sigh. “I'll do what I can to insure you aren't treated badly or just dumped somewhere if they think you can't be 'fixed,' but I don't know what will happen. I can't make any guarantees. I'm in a similar position with the added complication that apparently everyone thinks I died.”

 

Clint quirked his lips in a wry grin, unaccountably pleased. “Well, at least you're honest. That's more than I usually get.” He pointed at the road, “When do you want us to leave?”

 

“No time like the present.” The two scooted away from the apex of the rise and brushed grass and leaves off their clothing getting the others ready for what they hoped would be the last leg of the journey.

 

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“I'll go in to town. I'm the only one of us who knows how to contact reliable help. While I'm in town I'll see if I can find some food and clothing or scout out a place we can stay until help arrives.” Banner had left nearly two hours ago and the group had remained on pins and needles waiting his return. True, Banner knew how to contact Tony, but if something happened to the doctor, there was no way to get to him, or even know something had happened. Nor did they know what to do or where to go if things went south.

 

A low whistle alerted them to his return and people unconsciously relaxed a notch. A moment later, Banner walked in to their makeshift camp.

 

“What happened?” Coulson asked, his gaze categorizing any possible injuries the other might be hiding.

 

“I'm fine,” Banner's expression was calming. “We're in Northern Italy. Tony can be here in less than five hours. And I have a place we can stay that includes food, baths, and changes of clothing.”

 

“How'd you manage that?” Selvig's exclamation echoed their surprise.

 

Banner looked embarrassed. “Tony. Once he knew where we were, he wasted no time in organizing a safe place for us.”  


“Is it far?” Steve asked from his spot on the ground where he cradled Clint's right foot in his hands, rubbing careful circles in the ankle to ease a slight sprain.

 

“A few miles on the other side of the town.” He held up a set of car keys. “I got transportation.”

 

“Halleluiah, Amen!” drawled Clint, who wiggled his foot before gingerly getting to his feet.

 

The large SUV easily held all six fugitives, the glass dark enough to cut the sun's glare as well as keep anyone from getting a good look at the passengers. Banner got into the driver's seat and beckoned everyone in. Steve stared at the vehicle a long moment but shrugged and climbed into the back after Clint. The two curled into the bench seat, falling asleep almost instantly. Selvig leaned against the window in his position behind Banner, also swiftly falling asleep.

 

Loki caught Banner's eyes in the rear view mirror. “What didn't you mention?” he asked knowingly from his spot behind Coulson who sat shotgun and played navigator.

 

The scientist sighed, “I told Tony that both I and Steve were fine. Other than that, he only knows that I have four other former prisoners with me, but not who they are or that we'd all been de-aged. It wasn't something I wanted to say over the phone in case the lines were tapped. Plus, I didn't want to waste any time by arguing the science with him.”

 

“Do you think it was wise not to give them some sort of head's up?” Coulson inquired, brow raised. “Thor's not going to be happy to see his brother, they think I'm dead, and both Steve and Clint are now teens with no memories of who they are.”

 

Banner shook his head with a sigh. “Had they known, they would have over-reacted.” Banner stopped, correcting himself. “Thor and Tony would have over-reacted. Tony would have gone straight to Fury to give him a piece of his mind for not mentioning your survival. There's no telling what Thor would do once he confronted Loki. Natasha would have gone calmly cold and left them behind in order to get to us first; but she's terrifying when she does that and I didn't want to subject anyone to that. Fury's lied to us before and I don't trust SHIELD to not separate us if they got to us first. Something tells me that would end badly for us if they tried.”

 

Coulson conceded the point.

 

Loki frowned, “I understand not mentioning me. I even understand not mentioning Coulson. Why didn't you tell them that Clint was with you?”

 

Banner was quiet for a long moment. “Steve and I were having lunch with Tony when we were transported to the HYDRA base. One of the things Tony mentioned was that SHIELD was on the lookout for the two of us, but had, so far, found nothing. He didn't mention anyone looking for Clint, and I could hear Natasha in the background. If she had even an inkling that her partner was missing, there would have been no way that she would have been at the Tower. I didn't know what to think, so I didn't say anything.”

 

Forty minutes later, they pulled into the drive of a huge mansion.

 

Steve woke, rubbing at his eyes and staring in awe at the building. “Why are we at a posh hotel?”

 

Banner grinned. “It's not a hotel. It's one of Tony's vacation homes.”

 

A man in a butler's uniform stood at the front door. “Dr. Banner? I am Gaston. Master Stark has informed us of the situation. The house is on lock-down, the perimeter is secure, and JARVIS is monitoring all comings and goings. If you gentlemen will follow me, I will show you to your rooms where you may freshen up.”

 

Loki hid a smirk, but had to give the man his due. Gaston seemed completely nonplused at the sight of six bedraggled refugees arriving with barely any advance notice. He treated them as honored guests, with not even so much as a twitch at what had to be their truly awful stench. River water could only do so much without soap, especially when you have nothing new to change in to.

 

“Showers?” Clint whistled in approval. “God, yes, please. If I don't get clean soon I'm liable to start clawing my skin off.”

 

“We cannot have that, now can we, young sir? This way, please.” Gaston led the way to the first room. Again, Loki had to give the man his due, Gaston truly knew his job. Though no one said a word, the butler noticed how tense the group became when it became obvious that they might have to separate from the rest. The man faked an outraged expression as he surveyed the room. “No, this won't do at all.” He motioned them to remain where they were as he 'examined' the other rooms on the floor. “I shall have to have a stern word with the cleaning staff. None of these rooms will do. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but it appears the only place suitable that has room for you all will be the pool house. Please, this way, if you will.”

 

They wandered through the house and out into the back yard. A large, Olympic-sized swimming pool, with two diving boards, a slide, and two attached hot tubs lay off to the right, while a hundred yards straight ahead stood a building done in a 'cottage' style, but looked like it housed nearly a dozen rooms by itself.

 

The front area held towels and robes on hooks, used for drying off from the pool before heading further into the 'house'. Gaston pointed, “To the left are the showering area. One for ladies, one for gentlemen; each with a number of shower and changing stalls. The other rooms on that side are for private massages. If any feel the need, I can have one of our masseuses brought to take care of any sore or strained muscles. In the back corner is a kitchenette with a fully stocked refrigerator, toaster, and microwave; the bar holds a variety of both alcoholic beverages and juices. The rooms on the right hand side are for guests who wish for a quiet rest before either continuing their swimming or returning to the main house. Changes of clothing will be brought momentarily, in the meantime I'll have the kitchen staff bring you a meal.”

 

“Thank you, Gaston,” Coulson commented. The man bowed and backed his way out of the room. No one relaxed until the door closed behind him and Coulson flipped the latch. The six silently checked each room, making sure all exits were closed and locked before availing themselves of the showers.

 

888

888

 

Gaston had proven a miracle worker; producing six sets of clothing that somehow fit each of them, even Clint. Scrubbed clean, dressed and bandaged, the former prisoners ate a light meal of savory beef stew, fruit salad, and buttered toast along with milk or water. Though assured of their safety, no one felt comfortable having any alcohol; Loki laughing in amusement as Selvig made a point on telling Clint, 'You can't have any. You're too young.' and getting the response of, 'I've been drinking since the day I moved in at the circus. The Bearded Lady said a little wine each night does you good.'

 

Now the group waited for Banner's friends to arrive.

 

Phil paced the room, keeping an eye on those he felt under his protection, as well as the doors and windows. Loki had convinced Clint to lay down in one of the guest rooms. From the common room, Phil could just make out the mage sitting on the edge of the bed, legs swinging, one hand absently carding through Clint's hair. The younger boy lay curled against his back, having finally given in to the need for sleep. He had crawled under the comforter only after Loki had chosen to stay as well. Asleep, he looked even younger, his eyes darting madly beneath closed lids as he dreamed. Loki's absentminded humming and proximity keeping any nightmares at bay for now.

 

Dr. Banner had checked everyone over, taking care of what he could with the surprisingly well-stocked first aid kit found in the shower room. Sore muscles, exhaustion, and mild malnutrition could be taken care of with rest and a few good meals. He wanted to have Selvig's leg x-rayed as well as a battery of blood tests done in case whatever they'd been given had other adverse effects. For the time being, both Selvig and Banner had also taken the opportunity to catch some shut eye. The scientist had commandeered a lounge chair, his bum leg elevated with several folded towels to help keep the swelling down, while Banner lay curled on a love seat.

 

The crinkling of paper caught Phil's attention. Not tired, Steve sat cross-legged on a second lounge chair and picked up a nearby magazine. The fifteen year old stared in wide-eyed shock at the cover. “I'm reading this wrong, right? It says 2012. But that's got to be some kind of joke. It's 1932!” He turned stricken blue eyes up at him. “Isn't it?”

 

Phil cursed quietly to himself as he lowered himself into a chair across from him. “I'm afraid it's not a joke, Steve. It really is 2012.”

 

For a moment, Phil thought Steve had stopped breathing. Alarmed, he grabbed his wrist, providing an anchoring point. “Steve!” He squeezed, trying to break through the shock. The gasp of breath seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room, but no one stirred. Phil caught the younger man's eye. “Look at me. Steve? Look at me. Listen. You know of the serum that's aging you, yes?”

 

Steve nodded jerkily, still trying to catch his breath.

 

“At twenty, you volunteered to be the test subject for the serum. You had wanted to serve you country so badly, but your physical limitations saw to it that you were denied again and again.”

 

“Is ...” he paused, clearing his throat with a rough cough. “Is that why I seem to remember being sick all the time?”

 

“Yes. Originally you were ill. You had honor and determination in spades, but couldn't do much since your body was undersized and you were asthmatic. Dr. Howard Stark and Dr. Erskine perfected what they hoped could allow the U.S. to come on top in the current war. It was a success, Steve. You became the embodiment of the American spirit. You were a hero. Captain America.”

 

Quiet, the boy thought for a long moment, then asked, frowning, “Then what happened? That doesn't explain why I'm no longer in the 1940's.”

 

“Your last mission, you'd located a device that the Germans planned to use to unleash unknown horror upon the world. However, your plane became damaged. You were running out of fuel, but you couldn't land. The damage done had meant all your missiles were live, there was no way to jettison them, or disarm them. There was no way you would chance injuring people, either civilian or military. The only option was to crash land into the Arctic. And you did. Your plane sank into the ocean and no one could locate it, though Stark searched and searched for years.”

 

“How do you know all this?” Steve's voice sounded small and a bit overwhelmed as he curled in upon himself.

 

Phil shifted, gripping his shoulder, even as he felt his face flush in embarrassment. “They made cartoons and comic books of your exploits. I've even seen actual footage of some of your missions. I ...” he cleared his throat. “I've even started collecting your trading cards.”

 

“Trading cards?” Steve mouthed, his hands absently smoothing the wrinkled pages of the magazine. The young man shook his head and Phil couldn't help but grimace at the information overload. “How old was I when ... when I crashed?”

 

“Twenty five.”

 

“And how old should I be, now?”

 

“Twenty-six.” He watched as Steve tried to wrap his mind around the idea.

 

“So, based on what you said earlier, at the rate I'm going I'll remember everything in eleven more days?”

 

“Approximately, yes.”

 

World-weary eyes gazed up at him as the young man pushed himself to his feet, the magazine fluttering to the floor. “Will it be worth remembering?”

 

Phil didn't respond, knowing Steve wasn't really asking for an answer. He watched sadly as the boy who would be Captain America slowly wandered over to a window, careful to remain unseen but curled in a lounge chair to stare at the sky.

 

“You did well.”

 

Phil jumped, turning in the directions of the voice.

 

Banner opened one eye. “There really wasn't a good way to tell him. We couldn't have kept him in the dark much longer, anyway. Not with some of the technological advances this house has. That you're a fan and a compassionate man made you the best one to break the news.”

 

“He's just a kid. And he just found out that everything he ever knew or loved is seventy years in the past. It's a hell of a blow to have to deal with at any age, let alone at fifteen,” Phil protested, but even now, Phil could see Steve pulling himself together.

 

Banner put his thoughts into words. “He's Captain America.” The eye closed. “Get some rest, Agent Coulson. For it will be in short supply when the others get here.”

 

888

 

The first indication of trouble came at two in the morning. Phil thought he heard Gaston's voice uncharacteristically raised in warning, “Perhaps you should allow me to announce you, sir.”

 

The front door of the pool house slammed open and the clatter of feet brought Phil to his own, his gun already pointed at the entryway into the common room. From the corner of his eye he saw Steve do the same and Selvig had a gun trained on the door as well, though he remained prone. He didn't have time to check on the others before a dark haired man in torn jeans and a ratty band t-shirt strode in as if he owned the place.

 

“Master Stark, do be careful,” Gaston's concerned voice told Phil that yes, the man did indeed own the place. Two others quickly followed. A blond giant of a man who carried a large hammer at his waist and a quiet red headed woman whose gaze locked onto his with something akin to shock.

 

Stark waved a hand in dismissal, crossing the room in quick movements to grasp Dr. Banner by the shoulders. “Bruce? God, Bruce. Tell me you're okay.”

 

“I'm okay, Tony.” The scientist put his hands over Stark's and shifted the two of them until he was between the two groups, effectively blocking some of the lines of sight. Over his shoulder he called out, “Put your guns down. Everything's fine. We're all friends here. I promise.” He glared at Stark making the other man blink in shock, “Jesus, Tony. Don't you know enough not to barge in on people who are still on edge? You're not normally this insensitive, or reckless, despite what you try to portray to others. You're lucky no one shot first and asked questions later.”

 

While Banner ranted, getting the fright out of his system, and Stark looked suitably abashed, Phil made sure to meet Gaston's eyes and nod. The man's quick thinking had kept his employer from getting shot. The butler nodded in reply, shoulders relaxing a notch.

 

A rather inventive curse in Russian had his attention swing back to the woman. She had taken a few steps forward, then stilled, head tilted to one side, studying him intently as a spider would a fly that had wandered into her web. The gaze made him uneasy, but he returned the look as steadily as he could considering the circumstances. “How is this possible?” she whispered.

 

The large blond, however, didn't seem discomfited at all. “Son of Coul,” he boomed, a large smile upon his face. “How magnificent to see you so hale. Your valiant deeds must have impressed the All-Father much to be returned to Midgard in a younger vessel.”

 

The odd turn of phrase and the mention of the All-Father let Phil feel confident in naming the man. “You must be Thor.”

 

The grin turned puzzled. “Aye. We have met before upon the flying fortress of Fury One-Eye. Dost thou not remember?”

 

“No, Thor. They don't remember you. Any of you.”

 

“Explain.” This came from the woman. Phil met her eyes, surprised to find grief and suspicion warring with acceptance. He felt his heart lurch to realize that this woman knew him and had mourned his apparent death; it hurt to realize that and to know that he had absolutely no recollection of her at all.

 

“It's a long story,” Banner sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat down upon the love seat, dragging the other man to sit beside him to keep him from fidgeting. “Phil Coulson, Steve Rogers, Eric Selvig, this is Tony Stark. He owns this house and he's part of the Avengers as Iron Man.”

 

“Iron Man?” Steve asked, putting the pistol away.

 

“He built his own suit of armor to fight in.”

 

Stark blinked at the much younger Rogers, his mouth opening to say something, then snapping shut as Banner elbowed him in the ribs. “Not now, Tony.” Banner pointed to the blond man. “This is Thor, from Asgard. He's the God of Thunder.”

 

“So that is actually Mjolnir?” Selvig peered at the hammer from his spot.

 

“Aye, that it 'tis.”

 

“And the lady is Agent Natasha Romanoff. She's also part of the Avengers and also works for SHIELD.”

 

“I'd still like to know why they don't know who we are and why they look so young,” her voice stayed calm, but Phil thought he detected a faint thread of worry and annoyance.

 

“Okay.” Banner threw his hands up in surrender. “Long, long story short. HYDRA captured us. They used some experimental serum on us that somehow made us younger; complete with matching memories.”

 

“That doesn't seem the case for you, Bruce.” Stark had leaned forward in his seat to examine his friend more closely.

 

“They tried to suppress the Hulk,” Banner stated grimly. “I got given some kind of shot every day that they had me. We managed to escape our cells before the next dose and whatever it was wore off.” He paused and sighed. “When it did, I transformed, infuriated beyond belief. The Hulk smashed his way out of the installation. When I reverted back, I regained my age and my memories.”

 

“Not all your age, I don't think,” Stark stated. “You barely have any gray left in your hair at all, and you have fewer worry lines and the like than before.”

 

Banner shrugged, “Well, I couldn't tell you why that happened. I'm not even sure of what they did, exactly.”

 

Reminded, Phil fished in a pocket, drawing out a disk. “I tried to download a few files, but I don't know what I managed to get. We were in a bit of a hurry to leave.” He tossed it to Stark who snatched it out of the air, looking for all the world like a child at Christmas.

 

“I'll check this once we're in the air.” Stark glanced around, brow furrowed. “Hey, I thought you said there were six of you. Where are the other two?”

 

Phil controlled his initial reaction to look toward the guest room, but none of the others had his training. Thor noticed the looks and strode towards the room, his voice cheerfully booming, “My friends! All is well. You are being rescued. Come join in these glad tidings.”

 

Romanoff's eyes flickered over him and she must have read some of his uneasiness for she headed after Thor. “Thor, I don't think that's a very good idea.”

 

“Nonsense, Lady Natasha. We are all friends here. They should greet the rest of us so as to banish all fear.” Thor pushed the door open the rest of the way and brazened his way into the room.

 

888

888

 

Loki heard the entrance of his brother and the others and winced at the loud voices all talking at once as they explained the situation. If he could, he would have already been through the air vent and safely hidden, but he couldn't wake Clint.

 

Heat poured off the younger boy and strands of hair lay stuck to his forehead and cheeks from the fever. Loki put his brother's proximity from his mind and lay a gentle hand on Clint's shoulder. “Wake, my Hawk. The others are here. Soon we should know how to return you to your true self.”

 

The boy muttered something beneath his breath and a few long moments passed before gray blue-green eyes peered up at him beneath bruise-smudged lids. “Loki? Wha's going on?” he groggily slurred, but the mage felt a knot loosen as Clint rubbed at his eyes and looked up at him with a clearer expression.

 

“Dr. Banner's friends have arrived. Are you feeling well?”

 

Clint shook his head, “I ache. And I'm cold.” He shivered and pulled the comforter tighter about his shoulders as he huddled closer to Loki.

 

Before Loki could comment, they heard a booming voice from just on the other side of the threshold. “Nonsense, Lady Natasha. We are all friends here. They should greet the rest of us so as to banish all fear.”

 

The noise caused Clint to flinch, the pinched look around his eyes telling the mage that the boy harbored a wicked headache in addition to whatever illness had him in its clutches. Loki turned quickly, shielding Clint from view with his body as his brother entered the room.

 

Pleased blue eyes clouded and the sunny expression darkened at the sight of him sitting on the edge of the bed. Thor grasped hold of the handle of Mjolnir and his battle armor instantly appeared in a flash of controlled lightning. He stomped closer and Loki braced himself for a blow that never came.

 

Instead, he watched with carefully concealed glee as his older brother stuttered to a stop, his hands raised in a placating manner, eyes wide and mouth agape at something over his shoulder. “I mean you no harm, little one. My brother here has escaped from his just imprisonment. I only wish to secure him into my custody to discover the means of his escape and return him to where he belongs.”

 

“That's nice,” came the flat tone. “However, I'm not particularly fond of large guys angrily stomping in my direction. Especially lately, if you catch my meaning. So if you don't mind; Back. Off.”

 

Loki turned his head slightly to the left; just beyond the unwavering barrel of a gun he could see Clint's closed off expression, face set, lips drawn back in a feral snarl, eyes blazing in anger and almost concealed fear. The bullets wouldn't harm Thor, but Clint didn't know that, and Loki felt his heart warm at the boy's willingness to defend him. Again he wished he had come to know his Hawk before everything had gone so horribly wrong.

 

Thor's mouth opened, an argument forming upon his lips, then it closed with a snap at the distinctive click of a hammer being drawn back. Nodding, the Thunder God slowly backed up, nearly colliding with the Black Widow and Coulson. Without even a change in expression, Coulson slid around Thor and stationed himself at the head of the bed, careful to stay out of Clint's direct line of sight, but physically showing who he sided with.

 

The Black Widow maneuvered herself so that Thor had to step further backward or risk her being in the line of fire, herself. “Loki,” she inclined her head a few degrees, tone and face carefully blank. If she felt at all surprised by his presence, or his appearance, none of it showed.

 

“Agent Romanoff,” he returned the gesture, more willing to interact with the beautiful spy than with his brother. He knew where he stood with the Black Widow. She didn't trust him, and he understood that, he could work with that. It was his relationship with Thor that sent his mind in a tizzy.

 

She tilted her head, quickly realizing that, unlike the other mortals, he had never lost his memories. “Do you have anything to do with all of this?” One hand motioned toward the others, the graceful gesture barely hiding the threat of violence that bubbled just under the surface.

 

He smiled thinly, glad that there would be no pussyfooting around with the ex-Russian. “Only in so much as the tesseract connects us all.” He saw that Clint had shifted his aim so as not to point at Romanoff – not out of respect for a lady's presence, but simply because she had not threatened anyone, yet. Loki was well aware of his Hawk's laser-like gaze keeping everyone in sight and evaluating the situation – a part of him grieved that someone so young had learned such lessons, while another swelled with pride that the boy wasn't one to cower. 

 

He could feel the shivers that now racked the small frame. Careful not to startle the boy into firing, Loki placed a hand over Clint's and gently lowered the gun. At the swift glance of inquiry, Loki shook his head. He read the hesitation as that intense gaze swung back to study Thor. “My brother will not harm us.” A tiny huff and Clint set the pistol aside to lie beside him on the bed. Loki noticed that Coulson left it within his reach, though it would have been easy to pocket the gun himself.

 

“Clint?” Romanoff breathed. Loki liked that about her, the Black Widow had a quick mind that could pull together small clues into a complete picture – much like his Hawk.

 

“What?” The tone was definitely cranky, the illness pushing the boy to his limits.

 

“Has he been with you the whole time?” Anger, no, pure incandescent rage poured off the woman in waves.

 

“Yes?” Loki drew the word out questioningly, wondering what had set the deadly woman off. He felt Clint shrink closer, half hiding behind him, but leaving the gun where it lay.

 

By this time, the others had entered the room as well. “Who's the small fry?” Stark asked, openly staring.

 

Romanoff ignored him. “Barton went on a month long surveillance op. in Afghanistan. If he's been with you for the entire two weeks that Dr. Banner and Rogers have been missing, I'd like to know why Agent Peters hasn't alerted headquarters that he lost his Asset.” The words were clipped and precise, and some of the others flinched at the implications.

 

“Think Fury knows?” Stark's expression indicated that that possibility wouldn't surprise him. “After all, he didn't tell anyone about Agent, here.” He pointed at Coulson.

 

Where most would have given a helpless shrug, Romanoff only tilted her head, fingertips tapping her hipbones as she thought. “No. I don't think so. Not in this case,” she also shot a look at Coulson. “No. Peters is clever. He either knew this could happen, or he's trying to capitalize on the disappearance. Perhaps frame Baton for something, or tarnish his reputation when it becomes obvious the mission won't become completed.”

 

“Why would Peters do such a thing?” this came from Banner.

 

She shrugged, in an unsurprisingly graceful move. “He may be one of a handful that resented Barton's reinstatement after what happened.” She smoothly censored herself, casting a look at Clint who had curled back into the comforter, still staring at everyone in the now crowded room.

 

“Are we staying here or returning to New York?” Loki brushed a hand down Clint's flushed face, frowning a bit as the boy moved into the cool touch. “Either way, I think Clint would benefit from seeing a healer.”

 

“No more pokin' and proddin',” the response sounded slurred as the boy slid down into sleep at the soothing touch.

 

He pushed hair from the boy's face, “He has a fever.”

 

“It's no wonder,” Coulson straightened the comforter, tucking it closer to thin shoulders. “God knows what all happened while we were at the installation; and we've been traveling cross-country, on foot, for five days. Everyone's sporting some sort of injury or another. We're malnourished and exhausted. I'm surprised more of us aren't sick.” He turned to Stark, expression serious. “Can you go over that information while we travel? I'd really like to know what else they may have done to us.”

 

Stark's gaze stayed fixed on Clint's small face. “I'll do you one better. Tell us which direction you came from; Thor and I'll backtrack. The big lug can take care of any leftover staff and I'll gut their computer systems of the last megabyte of information. Natasha here can fly the plane and we'll meet you in New York and figure out how to reverse this.”

 

Banner nodded though Coulson looked skeptical. Loki leaned over, his voice low, “This is what they do. Trust them.”

 

At the amused look, he huffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I actively fought against them. I never claimed they were unworthy. They proved that by besting me and defending the world.”

 

888

888

 

Two days later, an inarticulate shout of rage had everyone looking with alarm as Tony Stark stomped through the living room where everyone had gathered and into the kitchen to get coffee.

 

Phil waited a moment, giving a small smile as Dr. Banner arrived moments later. “I take it things aren't going well?”

 

Dr. Selvig, standing behind Bruce and looking equally annoyed, snorted. “You can say that again.”

 

Bruce rubbed at his eyes, his new glasses dangling from one hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “There are a few spots in the data that aren't making much sense.”

 

“It's crap! That's what it is!” Tony threw himself into an armchair, coffee sloshing along the edge of the mug, his brows drawn together in frustration. Both Steve and Clint turned from their spots on the floor where they were watching a movie to stare at him in fascination, Natasha just raised a brow at the theatrics. “Whoever put this together either had a demon whispering directly into his ear or just pulled numbers out of his ass.” He dug out a printout, waving it in emphasis. “The numbers just don't add up. They give percentages greater than one hundred.” He pointed at another segment, “And these look like the nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind! Parts aren't even in English!”

 

“We were in Italy,” Phil calmly pointed out.

 

“It's not in Italian, either. We had JARVIS check and it doesn't equate to any known language in the databases. So either the guy made up his own language or he really did have a demon talking to him.”

 

“Magic, Tony,” Bruce reminded. “They were trying to combine magic with science.”

 

“Well, whatever they were trying to do, they sucked at it!” Tony tossed the printout onto the floor, ignoring the uneasy looks exchanged around him.

 

Phil tried to maintain a calm facade. If they couldn't figure out a way to reverse the process, Phil didn't know what they would do. He might attempt to join the Army again, but being twenty years behind the times would take some getting around. And that was if SHIELD didn't discover what had happened and stepped in.

 

He and Eric were adults; they'd figure something out, but what about Clint? Would he be allowed to take the boy in or would he end up in foster care? Phil suppressed a shudder; Clint had already clearly stated he wouldn't willingly go to an orphanage or a foster home. With his background, he'd never easily settle down in a 'normal' situation. God, this was a mess.

 

Loki leaned down from his armchair to pick up one of the dropped pages and studied it. Though Thor had commented on the need to return to Asgard, no one had felt comfortable about letting the mage out of their sight. He and Clint felt they'd never see Loki again if he left with Thor. Considering the circumstances, it would be cruel to allow Loki to continue being punished for something he had no control over. Bruce, Steve, and Eric felt that they'd all been brought together due to the tesseract and that separating before things got resolved could be disastrous. Though uneasy about it, Thor had agreed to hold off on alerting the All-Father until later. “This looks like part of a temporal spell, though not one I'm familiar with. Does this world have any powerful mages?”

 

Tony blinked, then grinned, snapping his fingers. “Strange.”

 

Bruce looked skeptical. “Dr. Strange doesn't like you, Tony. He even told you to stop bothering him after the last time you set Dum-E on him for a blood sample.”

 

“Eh,” Tony waved a hand. “That was months ago. You can't tell me this isn't intriguing enough for the man. Besides, I wasn't going to ask him.”

 

“You weren't?”

 

“Nope. You are.”

 

888

 

“Gods Above and Below, this is an unholy mess.” Dr. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme studied the auras of all six carefully, then examined all the intel Stark had pulled from the abandoned installation.

 

He started with Steve, now nineteen years old and hitting what would have been his last growth spurt had he developed normally. “There's nothing I can do for you that the serum isn't already doing. If I tried to accelerate anything, there's a chance of permanently losing any memories of the years I had you 'skip' over.”

 

“I understand. Thank you for being honest.”

 

“On the positive side, there is nothing else within your system that could harm you. You only have another week of this until you are back to your normal age with all your memories once again intact.”

 

Steve sighed, a relived smile touching upon his lips, “Well, I guess this will give me some time to get acclimatized to this new time.”

 

Strange spoke with Bruce next, “Your unique circumstances have already taken care of most of what was done to you. You have all of your memories, but physically, you're thirty-seven. The gamma radiation and residual tesseract energy 'broke the internal clock' of the HYDRA based serum.”

 

“Will I age normally?” Bruce asked, his voice tight.

 

“Yes. You will merely be physically five years younger than before, that's all.”

 

Tense muscles relaxed, “Thank you, Doctor.” It occurred to Phil that having to deal with transforming into the Hulk was one thing, but suddenly being effectively immortal, staying the same age as others around him got older, would have driven Bruce over the edge.

 

“Loki Laufeyson,” Dr. Strange began formally, garnering everyone's attention. “Have you received any counseling to recover from the trauma of having your will subjected by the tesseract?” 

 

Pandemonium sounded, with Thor being the loudest, while Phil smiled quietly, glad that the truth would finally be told and believed.

 

Strange waved everyone into silence. “From my examination, I can sense how the tesseract energies interact with each. It completely engulfed Dr. Selvig, though it merely presented a new puzzle for the scientist to solve. It also engulfed Clint Barton and Loki Laufeyson, forcing both to think and behave in ways mostly contrary to their natures. That conflict left visible marks on the astral plane. Barton has recovered sufficiently, or at least, he had at his correct age and frame of mind. This situation has caused it's own marks. Once returned to normal, I'll re-evaluate. Loki, however, still shows signs of stress and injury, though he's been free of the influence for nearly a year now.”

 

Loki shook his head, not looking at his brother. Thor looked devastated. “I have not. They believed me the author of the deeds and attacks I'd performed. I admit, my past deeds before this did not give them much reason to doubt their verdict. I spent my days alone, and was only permitted in the presence of others if gagged.”

 

Dr. Strange's expression held a mixture of pity and horrified disbelief, “Why?”

 

Loki grinned, a sharp-edged look. “There is a reason I'm called Liesmith and Silver Tongue.” He shrugged, “I knew they'd never believe anything I had to say on the matter. It was one of the reasons I escaped back to Midgard.”

 

Dr. Strange looked between the brothers, making a decision. “I shall accompany you to Asgard to explain the matter to the All-Father if you would permit my assistance.”

 

A genuine smile graced Loki's face. “Thank you. I welcome it.”

 

Thor nodded as well, “I, too, would greatly desire your assistance.”

 

“Beyond that, only time can restore your access to your magics. Don't rush it and try not to overdo things.”

 

He addressed the last three, his expression more grave. “The combination they used is a mishmash of a few different paths of magic. The only way to break it is a spell that has you relive those missing years.”

 

“How does that work?” Phil thought he saw a worried gleam in the sorcerer's eyes.

 

“You'll age two years a day.”

 

“Like Steve?” Clint asked, listening intently to everything Dr. Strange said and didn't say.

  
“No. The serum ages him a full year in a few short minutes once a day, giving him a download of memories at the same time. The serum also takes care of organizing those memories so they didn't overwhelm him, as well as taking care of any pain he would have felt due to his body changing so drastically.”

 

“The spell you're talking about doesn't do the same?” Eric clarified.

 

“You'll be in a half-conscious state; the spell accelerates your growth and you 'relive' your life during the spell's duration. It averages to one day for every two minutes. A month for every hour that the spell runs. As you have twenty years to regain, the spell would last for ten days.” He hesitated, then continued. “Any injuries you may have suffered during those twenty years will also reoccur. As you are partially conscious so that the spell may accurately connect to both your conscious and subconscious mind, you'll feel that pain as freshly as when you first were subjected to it.”

 

“What if the injury had been life threatening?” Natasha brought forth the question no one wanted to express. “Would the speed at which they are aging mean they would bleed out before we could intervene with medical attention?”

 

Dr. Strange shook his head. “No. The spell would keep them from dying from the injuries as it is obvious they originally survived the trauma.”

 

“Even if they technically 'died'? Either stopped breathing or their heart stopped beating and they had required CPR?”

 

“The spell will sustain them. But their body will react to the trauma.”

 

Where most of the room shot surreptitious looks at him, knowing that Loki had run him through with his scepter, Phil noticed that Natasha's worried gaze had landed on Clint. Phil shuddered to think how many narrow escapes Clint had survived as an agent for SHIELD.

 

The boy caught the look and gazed back at her. “This is really going to hurt, isn't it?”

 

“Yes.” Phil winced at the blunt reply, but Clint seemed to appreciate not getting a sugarcoated response.

 

He sighed in resignation, “Well, if this is the only way I have at not staying this age, then I'll take it. Pain or not.”

 

Eric nodded as well, though the man looked pale.

 

“Mr. Coulson?”

 

“I agree as well.”

 

“As the spell requires a lot of power from the caster, I can only cast the spell on one person at a time and would require a week to recover before I could cast it again.”

 

“Hey, I have a question,” Tony interrupted. “Say one of these guys ended up with pins, a pace maker, or a metal plate – something along those lines. They don't have anything like that now – everyone's scans were clean., but will the spell add those items or will it heal the damage so they're not needed? Or do we need to have a surgeon on call to put any of that in if necessary?”

 

By now, Phil had gotten used to the way Tony would ask random questions as they came to mind, most of which only had any relevancy to his own curiosity, but this Phil wanted to hear the answer to and he turned expectantly to the sorcerer.

 

“The spell causes you to relive the time. If that means you had surgical pins placed, then you will have surgical pins. If you required a pace maker, then now you will have a pacemaker. If the surgeon left a clamp inside you during surgery … well, then you'd have a clamp.”

 

Tony sat back, mildly satisfied, but Phil heard him grumbling at the inefficiency of magic if it couldn't either keep the damage from happening at all or at least heal it completely.

 

“Who's first?”

 

“I believe that Phil should be first, and then Clint,” Natasha stated.

 

“Why?” Steve asked, curious.

 

“As an adult, Clint only allowed myself or Phil near him when he was injured or ill. He doesn't know me, but has a rapport with Phil. Once he's back to normal, I don't want his first thoughts to be of being left with someone he didn't trust when at his most vulnerable.”

 

888

888


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

“Fury discovered Clint is missing.” Nat stood in the doorway to the converted lab Dr. Strange had chosen for his spell casting. “Sadly, Peters did not survive the encounter.” She didn't sound very sorry, in fact, looked pleased by the news.

 

“Does that mean you'll leave in order to 'search' for your partner?” Coulson asked.

 

“No. Fury hasn't officially let me know anything. I'm still on stand-down from my last mission.” She turned a grim smile in Clint's direction, “If I hadn't taken to vent crawling, myself, I wouldn't have known at all.”

 

“What does that mean for us?” Dr. Bruce locked the cabinets after putting the last of the equipment away, lips pursed.

 

“We might get an agent or two snooping around in a few days. They'll check the nearby safe houses first, to see if Clint made it to any of them in order to lick his wounds. After that, they'll try all of his regular haunts, before casting the net wider.”

 

“Happen often?”

 

“Often enough that it's considered procedure if he goes missing.”

 

Clint tilted his head. “Don't I trust the people I work with?”

 

“You would have either called Phil, myself, or, lately, one of the other Avengers.”

 

She hadn't actually answered the question. “That would be a 'no,' then.”

 

Dr. Bruce interrupted. “Why haven't they asked the people involved in the op?”

 

“Peters mentioned that Clint broke off halfway through a sentence. He checked the spot where Clint had set up his gear. Nothing had been touched, but there was no sign of Clint. ” She shrugged, but Clint could see the tension and anger in the movement. “After withdrawing for a while, when he decided that he hadn't been compromised, he continued to run surveillance, but didn't mention Clint's disappearance, hoping to profit somehow at later juncture.”

 

“They don't know for sure that the subjects weren't part of a HYDRA cell?” Coulson asked.

 

“Those who were under surveillance haven't noticed anything, nor have they done anything to indicate they knew of Clint's presence or that they are responsible for his disappearance. It's been two weeks, but SHIELD won't interrupt their op in order to find out for sure.” A hint of anger threaded her tone, but she held herself loosely, glancing around the lab in curiosity.

 

Clint shrugged, not too concerned about it as he watched Dr. Strange draw designs on Phil's forehead, palms, soles of his feet, and over his heart. They'd moved a cot into the room, and Phil lay down, careful not to smudge the designs while the sorcerer knelt to draw further designs in a circle around the bed.

 

Clint settled himself onto a nest of sleeping bags and blankets in a corner of the room. “Are you going to be alright there?” she asked.

 

“I went downstairs once, and already had one well-meaning lady ask if I needed help locating my folks. I don't need Child Services called before I'm back to normal. This is one of the most secure rooms in the whole Tower, both Tony and JARVIS swear to it. I'll just stay here until it's my turn.”

 

“He won't be a bother,” Dr. Strange assured. “It'll give me someone to talk to since I won't be able to leave the room while the spell is in place.”

 

“The rest of us will be in and out periodically. If you get bored, you can come find any of us two levels up.”

 

He respected the fact that she didn't think he wouldn't be able to handle watching whatever it was that Phil would go through while under the spell.

 

Steve entered the room, a box of bottled water, granola bars, and packaged snacks in his arms. He looked a bit unhappy with Clint's decision to stay, but respected his right to see things through. He put the box next to Clint's makeshift bed. “So, if Fury shows up?”

 

“I sure as hell don't want to meet him. Fury kinda sounds like an asshole and I've had enough of them lately.”

 

Tony, who had slid in after Steve, clapped him on the shoulder, his smile bright and manic looking. “Nice to see the snark we all came to know and love was a natural product of upbringing. I'm actually quite surprised we haven't heard more of it recently.”

 

“It's called tact, Tony. You should try it.” Steve, now twenty-two, looked at the engineer, disapproval clear in his eyes.

 

“Tact has nothing to do with it,” Nat interjected. “Before, he didn't know you, didn't know what would set you off , and he had no back up plans in case he needed to escape. He's gotten comfortable with you and probably has worked out at least two other options in case this all goes pear-shaped.”

 

Clint tossed a smirk in her direction as she followed the three men out of the room. He caught the tail end of the conversation before the door sealed behind them. “How do you know this?” Tony sounded curious. 

 

“He's followed the same pattern for as long as I've known him. I figured the behavior had to come from somewhere.”

 

“So,” Phil began, eyes curious. “Two options, huh?”

 

The smirk widened. “Possibly three. JARVIS likes me.”

 

“Indeed, Master Clint. I would never let any harm befall a child, and as an adult, you and I engaged in many late night conversations of both a frivolous and serious mien.”

 

Clint blinked, but felt a genuine smile replace the prior smirk. “Cool.”

 

Dr. Strange cleared his throat. “We can begin when you're ready.”

 

Phil locked eyes on Clint, his expression serious. “I don't know what you'll see. If it gets to be too much for you, I want you to know that I won't be offended if you have to leave.” Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Phil cut him off. “No. Just remember. It's going to take ten days. You're going to need breaks, and I'm not going to be conscious or cognizant enough to respond to you or even know if you're here. Make sure you take care of yourself since you're going to need all your energy when you go through the spell.”

 

Clint carefully considered the request. Phil wasn't telling him not to be here, but wanted him to take care of himself. He could do that. He nodded his agreement, though, if at all possible, he planned to stay by Phil's side during the ordeal.

 

Phil nodded solemnly back and let Dr. Strange know he was ready. To Clint, it sounded like a bunch of gobbledygook along with a bunch of mystical hand-waving. The only interesting bit was that the designs on Phil's body and along the floor glowed a faint greenish hue.

 

The agent's eyes flickered madly beneath his lids. “Is that supposed to happen?” Clint asked.

 

Dr. Strange smiled kindly, his voice even, if a bit tired sounding. “It's similar to dreaming. His mind is rapidly cataloging all the memories and sensations he's experienced.”

 

Clint considered this. “Does this mean past memories will be clearer?”

 

“I'm not sure. It's not something that was brought up with past subjects of this particular spell.”

 

“Just how often have you cast it?”

 

“Three times. One only worked partially for the containment circle was broken before completion.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“The spell can only be used once upon a person. When the circle was broken, it stopped the spell. The person ended up several years younger than they should have been and had to age normally and relearn any skills they'd acquired beyond that age. None of the memories were regained.”

 

Clint eyed the designs nervously. “Tony know that his 'bots aren't allowed to start cleaning in here, right”

 

“I have reminded Master Stark of that eventuality and have taken the initiative of shutting down all non-vital functions within this room.”

 

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Clint sighed in relief.

 

“You are quite welcome, Master Clint.”

 

888

 

Eight hours into the spell with nothing more than a small bruise or two from bumping into things, the first major injury came as a surprise. Clint heard a double 'snap' and a brief expression of pain crossed Phil's face. “What was that,” he asked, alarmed.

 

“Broken bone. Right arm. The second sound was the bone being reset.”

 

“The spell tells you that?” Clint handed the sorcerer one of the bottles of water.

 

“Yes.”

 

Studying the man, Clint wondered. “Are you getting anything from the spell? You know, like memories or feelings?” His eyes widened in sudden horror. “You're not feeling the pain, too? Are you?”

 

Dr. Strange crossed one leg over the other while sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs that usually stood in the living room that Tony had brought down and took a sip of water. “No. Nothing like that. It's more like entries in a medical log – broken right ulna. That sort of thing.”

 

If Strange thought that would reassure Clint, he was mistaken. “So, if we had to deal with sexual assault, you'd know that, too?”

 

Solemn eyes gazed upon him, “Yes. But I will not divulge that information to anyone.”

 

Clint studied the older man intently but couldn't discern any lying or manipulation in his expression or posture. He sank back on his blankets, legs crossed, elbows propped upon his knees, palms cupping his chin, and turned to focus on Phil. He'd have to take the sorcerer's word for it – though it didn't set well with him. He had little reason to trust adults. But Phil trusted him. And apparently – against all odds – so did Loki. Clint would reserve his judgment until later.

 

888

 

Throughout the past nine days, everyone had spent some time daily to sit with Phil and check on the spell's progress, as well as to make sure Clint spent some time taking care of his own needs. Both Dr. Bruce and Steve, who had fully regained all of his memories, were horrified by what had happened; they managed to coax him away from Phil's side a time or two in order to watch a movie. But Clint had felt uneasy and distracted, slipping away to return to the spell room. It's not that he didn't appreciate the concern; he just couldn't explain why he felt the need to stay.

 

Clint found himself humming tunes he'd heard on the radio, or quietly singing songs – little ditties or folk songs – he'd learned from some of the other circus members. He had a good ear and they'd been pleased to pass on their traditions – so, now, tunes in several languages drifted through the small lab. He didn't know if Phil could hear him or not – he was partially conscious, after all – but it helped soothe him through the long hours as well as calm him when Phil suffered through several severe injuries.

 

Clint worried his bottom lip as the time passed. Broken bones had announced themselves with a 'snap' or a 'click,' bruises had bloomed over pale skin and faded again. Cuts bled, healed, and at times, scarred. Twice Clint felt the breath catch in his throat as Phil's body shuddered and convulsed briefly. Dr. Strange admitted those were the times where the body trauma had been so great the heart had stopped and been restarted. The first time, Clint judged Phil to be about twenty-three years old and probably was what made him leave the Rangers. The second, Phil had been thirty-one and a full Agent.

 

“Being a Ranger and then an Agent for SHIELD meant putting yourself on the line,” Dr. Strange quietly commented. “Sometimes, those lines got crossed and injuries are accrued. Be steady, though. You already know that despite the severity of the wounds, he survived.”

 

Of the others, Nat and Loki spent the most time sitting with him. Nat didn't say much, though she had joined him in singing in Russian a time or two, had even taught him a few new songs as well. Every now and then, she would flinch at an injury and murmur the name of a city. Clint figured those were either particularly bad ops, or she had witnessed the injury first hand. He'd slipped his hand in hers and she'd given him a watery smile before subsiding back into silence. Loki had occasionally spoken of Asgard, but generally stayed as silent support.

 

888

 

Now, it was the tenth day, and the atmosphere was tense as the moment whern Phil had been run through and 'killed' rapidly approached. Everyone had found a portion of a wall to sit or lean against as they kept vigil within the lab.

 

Everyone held their breath as Phil's body arched up from the cot while limbs shook and his breath stuttered. A large gaping wound appeared on his torso, the matching wound beneath creating a puddle of blood as the agent practically bled out. For several long minutes, his breathing was nearly non-existent, his skin parchment pale. Clint clamped a hand over his mouth, not even blinking, as if his gaze alone kept Phil from disappearing on them. A blue glow suffused the air around the prone figure.

 

“What is that?” Clint didn't know who asked the question, but was glad someone had as his own throat felt too tight to allow for speech.

 

Thor quietly offered, “The tesseract is a powerful artifact. Even having it in our possession for so many centuries, we still don't know all of its capabilities.” 

 

Loki had moved to stand close to the cot, examining the aura. “It's keeping Coulson alive. Slowly mending the tissue and replenishing the blood lost.” He glanced at the clock. “We'll see if things continue to go well.”

 

“How do you mean?” Dr. Bruce had his hands clenched in fists, but looked calm for the most part.

 

“Once I started paying attention to Midgard, I kept track of what all of you were doing,” Loki admitted, not looking up at the others. “Once I moved to Midgard, checking on you was done in order to stay out of your way. Coulson, though completely healed, was still in a coma. His healers did not know why he would not wake and feared he never would. As he'd been infused with tesseract energy, his body didn't know what to do with it. It couldn't absorb the energy nor rid itself of it and thus kept Coulson under. I simply removed what I could and he woke up.” 

 

“How long was he in the coma?” Dr. Strange asked.

 

“Nearly ten months. Once he woke, it took another two to regain the muscle mass he's lost and relearn to walk from the muscle atrophy he'd suffered.” A wide smirk crossed his face. “Oh, he was so angry with your Director when he discovered Fury led everyone to believe he was dead. I've never met anyone who could tear into someone so calmly and precisely. It was truly a work of art. Fury kept him hidden while he regained his strength. Coulson had been making headway in liberating himself and contacting one of you when HYDRA turned their machine on and teleported us all.”

 

The group settled around the room, watching the blue glow warily.

 

888

 

Clint noticed Loki keeping a close eye on the clock and frowning. With a murmured word and an odd hand gesture, the mage pulled the blue glow surrounding Phil's body to himself, absorbing the energy. 

 

“Loki? What did you do?” Thor growled, eyes wide in startled surprise.

 

Loki kept his gaze on Phil, his own eyes narrowed. “I don't know why, but the tesseract energy had not dissipated as it should have. I removed it, just as I did several months ago, otherwise, Coulson would not have woken at the spell's end.”

 

Dr. Strange nodded his agreement. “There is no explaining why the energy didn't react in a predictable manner. It's something we'll have to evaluate once the spell is completed and keep in mind when casting on the other two.”

 

888

 

At the end of the tenth day, the spell's green glow ceased and Phil woke with a groan. He blinked groggily, brow creased as his gaze traveled from face to face, only to clear when he spotted Clint, Loki, and Dr. Strange. “So, not a particularly vivid fever dream, then,” came the quiet murmur.

 

The next few minutes were a blur as everyone tried to speak at once, making sure Phil was alright, that he had regained all his memories, that there were no lasting effects from the tesseract energy, the HYDRA serum, or Dr. Strange's spell. Lots of backslapping, hugs, and welcome backs were given.

 

In the chaos and confusion, Clint managed to catch Phil's eye, nod, and make his escape from the room that now felt unbearably claustrophobic. He didn't know what was wrong, he felt genuinely happy that Phil was hale and back to normal, but suddenly, he felt very, very alone and exposed. Needing an escape, he instinctively sought the high ground and crawled up into the nearest vent.

 

The narrow escapes had frightened him, more so than he thought they would. He'd seen people die before, despite what the others may have thought. Had, in fact, been forced to take a life once in defense of his own life and his brother's – it was shortly afterward that Barney started to drift away from him. But watching Phil's body twitch and shudder, knowing it meant that at some point the man's heart had stopped beating, had hit him harder than expected.

 

Clint found a corner in the ductwork and curled up in a tight ball, shaking. Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he didn't register the air becoming warmer to combat the chill. Soon, he fell asleep, his dreams uneasy.

 

888

888

 

Loki watched with worried eyes as Clint slipped out of the room during all the confusion following Coulson's successful return. He exchanged swift glances with the Agent – a wealth of information passing between the two in that one look. Loki inclined his head, acknowledging the Agent's concern and vowing to look after the boy while Coulson went through a battery of tests to assure everyone of his well-being.

 

Leaving the converted lab, Loki's gaze unerringly went to the nearest ventilation shaft entrance. “Did he stay close by?”

 

“Master Clint remained on this floor, but has ensconced himself in the furthest northwest corner of the building. I took the liberty of increasing the amount of warm air being pumped through as Master Clint appeared cold. Might I suggest taking a blanket, some water, and peanut butter crackers with you? You'll find them in the next room. The crackers are a particular favorite of his and thus you might be able to tempt him into eating.”

 

The mage smiled, “Thank you, JARVIS.”

 

“You are quite welcome, Mr. Laufeyson.”

 

“Tell me, JARVIS. Is my Hawk happy here on this team?” Loki found himself curious as to what the AI would say.

 

JARVIS stayed silent a moment while Loki maneuvered down the shaft. “It took a while. Master Clint remained unsettled over the actions and aftereffects of what he'd been instrumental in occurring. Only the assurances of Director Fury and Assistant Director Hill that they did not hold him responsible kept him from disappearing off the grid.” Another long pause and this one caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise in apprehension. “I fear going to the funerals of those who died during the attack, and yet, not being given the opportunity to pay his respects to Agent Coulson, caused the most damage. Several close friends of the deceased blamed him. Ms. Romanoff shored him up as much as she could, while grieving herself. Captain Rogers and Master Stark also helped. It was through many late night conversations between myself and Dr. Banner that Master Clint finally began coming to terms with the situation.”

 

By this time, Loki found Clint's hiding place. He unfolded the blanket and tucked it around the small form. Gray blue-green eyes focused on him, but the body beneath his hand did not tense.

 

“Yes,” JARVIS continued. “He is happy.”

 

Loki held Clint's gaze. “It's truly up to you, my Hawk.” He rubbed soothing circles along the boy's back feeling the prominent vertebrae and rib bones. “You have good people who like and respect you. A job you are frighteningly good at and enjoy. Once the spell is over, you would easily slip back into your life. On the other hand, the spell will cause significant pain and there is no telling what the tesseract energy will do to change things. You could remain a child; there are many here who would be honored to take you in and raise you as their own, giving you a chance at a normal childhood in a warm, loving environment.”

 

“Including you?” the tone was curious, serious, without even a hint of mockery.

 

“Would you want me to?”

 

“Why wouldn't I? You're nice to me and you haven't wanted anything in return except to be friends.”

 

Loki glanced away, brow furrowed, again uncomfortable at the wealth of experience hinted within that statement. “It could all be a trick,” he warned. “Everyone will tell you that I'm a liar and a manipulator. That I only look out for myself. I could be friendly simply because it is in my best interest to be.”

 

Clint made a scoffing noise. “That's why most people are friends anyway, 'cause it suits them to be. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, if you really wanted to screw us over you could have done so at any time. Especially since you've had access to all your magic for days now.”

 

Loki snapped his head around, alarmed. He knew he must look ridiculous, eyes wide and mouth agape, but he couldn't help it. “How do you know?” Even Dr. Strange hadn't indicated that he'd noticed anything different.

 

“Caught you shape changing into your older self.”

 

“What did you think?”

 

“You're awfully tall.”

 

A bark of laughter escaped at the response. “Only in comparison to some.” He ran his hand through the boy's hair.

 

“Why do you keep doing that?”

 

He stilled, wondering if he had offended the boy or had made some human faux pas. “Does it bother you?”

 

A sleepy hum. “Not really. I just wondered why you did it.”

 

“It's very soft and … and soothing,” Loki admitted, internally cringing, waiting for the laughter.

 

Clint merely hummed again, snuggling deeper into the blanket. “Only my mom used to play with my hair.” He yawned and closed his eyes. “'Snice.”

 

Loki kept up the motion long after the boy fell back to sleep.

 

888

888

 

[Day 1 = 14-15 years old]

 

Both Phil and Loki sat in the corner on the sleeping bag and blankets watching as Dr. Strange painted the symbols on Clint's forehead, palms, soles of his feet, and over his heart. The sorcerer commenced the spell; the designs glowing green.

 

Phil Coulson, forty-one years old, former Army Ranger, and an Agent of SHIELD for the past seventeen years, felt himself uncharacteristically nervous as Clint's eyes fluttered shut as the spell took hold. Having been Barton's handler for ten years, he had a reasonably good idea as to what the young man would go through injury-wise. He'd either been there himself when the injury was accrued, or helped deal with the aftermath. But he still had no concrete information on ten years. Yes, he had access to all the medical workups, but they didn't go into the details of the whys and wherefores of the numerous injuries Barton had suffered through as a child and young adult. They'd never really discussed them, either. Clint only gave the bare bones if Phil asked, and always with such a look of pain deep in his eyes that Phil rarely asked.

 

Only ten minutes in – or five days – and Clint already sported a black eye and a large handprint spanning his upper arm where someone had grabbed him in a harsh grip.

 

“Oh!” Loki exclaimed as another bruise bloomed upon a cheek before the first even had a chance to fade. “How can Midgardians treat children so? On Asgard, we cherish our young. Injuries usually result fromrough play or carelessness, not through callous cruelty. Those rare few who do harm children are put through some of our harshest punishments.”

 

Dr. Strange answered. “Too many people think only of themselves first. They end up having children they are ill-prepared to take care of and these children end up abandoned or abused. They grow up only knowing one way to deal with their anger and perpetuate the cycle unless someone steps in to break that cycle.”

 

Phil turned to the mage. “I heard you offer Clint a choice.” Emerald eyes widened, staring at him in shock. “JARVIS played it for me at my request. Why did you?”

 

Loki sat perfectly still for so long, Phil figured he wouldn't get a response. “He was really shaken by what happened with you. And he already figured out that his would be just as brutal, if not more so. I didn't want him to have to go through all that – not if there was another option.” He stared at the small form, wincing as another bruise flared into being, this time accompanied by a broken ankle. 

 

“And yet, here he is.”

 

Loki smirked, though it seemed more sad than arrogant. “He thanked me for the offer, but had already decided to go through with it, regardless. He used humor to deflect, saying that having to go back to school and try to catch up on twenty additional years of history and changes wasn't something he cared to contemplate. He figured this way would be one less problem for some poor teacher.”

 

Phil shook his head and gazed at the boy that would grow into one of the finest men Phil ever had the honor of working with. Had he ever expressed that?

 

A few hours later, Clint gave a harsh cry and rolled onto his side as a line of lash marks appeared along Clint's back from nape to knee. Phil stared, horrified; these had never been mentioned in any medical file, nor had Clint ever indicated such a situation had occurred.

 

Fourteen minutes later, or seven days in 'real' time, and the lash marks vanished as if they'd never been. Loki perked up at that. “That was magic.”

 

Dr. Strange nodded in agreement. “Hedge witchcraft. Part of the minor healing arts. Someone exerted quite a lot of energy in that spell in order to completely heal and remove the marks.”

 

Phil tilted his head, a few past behaviors finally settling into place. “He's never scoffed at the idea of magic like other agents have. It makes sense that he had prior experience with it.” 

 

“He never mentioned being whipped?” Loki's voice sounded strained.

 

Phil frowned, wondering what else he hadn't been told. “No. He didn't talk about his time in the circus very often. All I know is that he left the circus at eighteen after an argument with his mentor.”

 

The two stayed silent through the rest of day, watching as bruises and small cuts appeared along Clint's inner arm and fingers from archery, shoulders and hips from acrobatics, eyes and lips from a fight.

 

888

 

[Day 2 = 16-17 years old]

 

Phil knew that when you trained in archery, knife work, swordplay, and tumbling there were a certain number of inevitable injuries that occurred and Clint had admitted that at first he'd been very clumsy but had been a quick learner. The amount of wounds he now sported, nearing seventeen, were nothing short of abuse.

 

Phil watched warily as Loki paced the room. The mage focused on the small form lying on the cot, green eyes chips of jade. A snarl curled his lip as another bone snapped, this time a finger on the young man's left hand. “Are you sure we can't stop the spell?”

 

Dr. Strange shook his head, “Whatever he has experienced, Clint has dealt with everything thrown at him to become the man you know and respect. To stop the spell now would mean trying to deal with a child out of time, one severely abused, who would have no reason to trust you as you would have been the one to trap him in his current age despite knowing his wishes.”

 

Loki cursed loudly and fervently in the musical language of the Asgard. Phil didn't understand the words, but he fully agreed with the sentiment. It hurt to watch what the boy had gone through – and even what they saw wasn't everything Clint experienced as they only saw the physical, not the emotional or mental.

 

As Clint requested, none of the others were given access to the spell room while he aged; and they wouldn't until the boy reached the age he'd been when he joined SHIELD. Phil was glad he'd gotten the others to promise to abide by his wishes; the last thing Clint needed was to have the others look at him or treat him differently.

 

Another bruise and Phil had to remind himself that this one was consistent with training. That this was normal for someone in Clint's profession. Dear God.

 

888

 

[Day 3 = 18-19 years old]

 

Head trauma. Right thighbone broken. Left shinbone broken. Four fingers on the left hand snapped, and his heart stopped twice.

 

“Argument?” Loki's expression was cold and closed off, his tone frigid. Phil would swear he could see his breath fog from the chill emanating from the mage.

 

The Agent understood; he felt equally incensed. He mentally went through any conversations he'd had with Clint over the years, hoping the younger man had ever let slip his mentor's name. “It shouldn't be too difficult to get information about his old circus and find out who taught him,” he muttered to himself. “There should be some reviews from the towns they stopped in.”

 

“If this 'mentor' isn't already dead, we can both insure he wishes he was.”

 

Phil found himself, for the first time, in full accord with the mage.

 

This time, no hedge witchery healed Clint and slow progress was made as the limbs grew sound again.

 

888

 

[Day 4 = 20-21 years old]

 

During the second half of the day, blood oozed from both of Clint's ears; a line of pain showing between both eyes that seemed to take forever to ease. Loki stared, horrified, but Phil merely reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a small box. Dr. Strange raised a brow at the small hearing devices nestled within. “He is deaf?”

 

Phil nodded, “About eighty percent in both ears. He never said how it happened, but we improved his aides once he joined. He had already learned to compensate for the disability, so it never really became an issue.” He handed the box over to the sorcerer.

 

Stepping carefully over the circle, Dr. Strange checked Clint's ears and gently slid the hearing aids in. “SHIELD willingly employs those with a disability?”

 

He quirked one side of his mouth in an odd smile. “Not usually. But he had skills we felt we couldn't pass up.”

 

888

 

[Day 5 = 22-23 years of age]

 

“What, exactly, did he do between his time in the circus and joining SHIELD?” Loki asked.

 

“Don't you know?” Phil looked askance at the trickster. “I thought you learned everything about Agent Barton while you had him under your control.” A slight bite had entered his tone. The nine days of not knowing whether they'd get Clint back still grated (longer, actually, since he didn't discover the truth until he woke from his coma – but he didn't know if he could count that or not).

 

“Not particulars.” Loki twisted a lock of dark hair between long fingers, looking almost chagrined. “The tesseract gave me a connection. A sense of the type of person he was. I knew that he'd gone through a lot in his life, had overcome things that would have crushed most; that he was determined, loyal, intelligent, competent, and utterly ruthless when needed; but I didn't get details. For anything specific, I had to ask.”

 

Leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees, Phil gave the mage a level stare. “What did you ask him?” 

 

“General information about his skills; but I focused mostly on what he knew about the helicarrier and those who might stop me.” A smirk appeared. “Did you know that he had gained access to every part of the helicarrier at one point or another, despite security and classifications levels?”

 

Phil frowned, remembering everything up to passing out from blood loss. Something didn't quite add up. “And what you told Natasha?”

 

His lips twisted. “Barton told me a couple of things I could use to rattle her if we ever encountered one another, but I lied when I said he'd told me everything. It's not that I didn't have the time – I did. I could have drained every atom of information out of him via the tesseract.” A shrug. “It wasn't something I was ordered to do, so...” He thought a moment, long fingers smoothing dark strands of hair from his face. “Your organization underestimates him quite a bit, I think. He really is devilishly clever when he wishes to be. He had a place set up for us almost before I requested one. And once he knew the basics of what I was trying to do, he found the people needed to make it happen. When asked where he found them, he'd said that SHIELD had enemies. As he's known to be an agent, I'm surprised I didn't hear any grumbling from some of the mercenaries about following his orders. Yet they worked well together, as if familiar with each others' style.” He thought some more. “Even though he was efficient, I knew he held back.”

 

“We suspected Barton had either become a mercenary or a thief of some sort. He was working mostly out of Europe. Solo. He didn't actually get on our radar until we did a background check on his brother, Bernard “Barney” Barton. Barney was FBI and some odd things kept occurring to the man's cases. Money had gone missing, guns and drugs never made it to their appropriate places of disposal, witnesses either changed their story or conveniently 'disappeared'. One or two had died under mysterious circumstances. We didn't really have anything solid on the man, so, we decided to question Clint concerning his brother.”

 

“I take it things didn't quite go as planned,” Loki smirked.

 

“No. Not quite.” He felt a small smile tug at his lips. “First, he evaded us for five months. Ended up leading us on a wild goose chase over most of Europe. Several times, we thought we had him cornered, only to have him slip through our nets. He even used his deafness to his advantage by using an amplifier to subdue a team of agents. He merely strolled out of the building and disappeared into the night while the feedback had the others clutching at their heads until someone was able to turn it off.”

 

“Then what happened?”

 

“He broke into my hotel room in the middle of the night to ask why we'd been tracking him.” His smile widened. “I knew he was about twenty-two, but he seemed both younger and harder than what I expected. When I admitted it was to ask him about his brother he seemed equal parts annoyed and relieved.”

 

“The annoyance?”

 

“That we chased him over half of Europe to talk about a man he hadn't had any contact with in over seven years. Once he calmed down a bit, he did give me some good intel on his brother's thought process and motivations.”

 

Loki cocked his head. “And the relief?”

 

“Well, I only pieced that together several years later. Whatever else Baron had been doing in Europe, he'd managed to seriously annoy a human trafficker by stealing his latest 'cargo' and helping them set up lives for themselves out of reach. He probably thought we were part of that man's group or someone similar trying to find out what he'd done with the people.”

 

“So that's when he became part of SHIELD?”

 

“No. I offered him a job and gave him my card, but he disappeared and no one saw hide or hair of him for nearly a year.”

 

A gunshot wound appeared at Clint's left shoulder and right thigh, closing the conversation for the day.

 

888

888

 

[Day 6 = 24-25 years of age]

 

Loki took the sandwich Coulson offered with a smile in thanks. Off in the other corner, Romanoff sat quietly conversing with Dr. Strange, finally allowed to keep her own vigil.

 

“You mentioned you gave him your card. How did you end up taming our Hawk?” He caught the sidelong look at the phrasing but couldn't bring himself to take it back. He was slowly realizing that this man had helped hone all the qualities that made Clint into the person that had caught his attention.

 

“I didn't. Not really. I'd offered a place to belong, but I didn't know if he'd ever take me, us, up on it. Then, one day over a year later, I get a call from a woman asking if I'd been serious about the job offer or if I'd just been blowing smoke.” A quiet smile crossed his features. “It was a phrase Barton had used. I told her yes and asked who she was.”

 

“The Black Widow,” Loki guessed, stealing a glance at the woman in question.

 

“At some point, for whatever reason, he'd teamed up with her. After being injured while protecting her, he convinced her to give SHIELD a chance and to come in with him. That would have been the injuries he suffered yesterday – the two gunshot wounds. They were bad enough to keep them from successfully running, but not inherently life-threatening.” Coulson sat, hands clasped before him, eyes on Clint as he spoke. “Once he was healed, they drove us crazy. Already better trained than all our younger agents, there wasn't much we could teach them other than how to work with a team. Both of them had a problem with authority – Barton moreso than Romanoff.”

 

“Admit it, Phil; we kept you guys on your toes.” Romanoff slid onto the blankets beside the older agent. 

 

Coulson shrugged, a fond smirk lightning his face, as he put an arm around her shoulders. “It took a while before you settled in.”

 

She shrugged, tucking herself closer to his side, wrapping her arm about his waist. “It was all new. Clint was the only one I trusted, and despite the fact that it was his idea, he was very skittish at first.”

 

“There were a few times we thought you would bolt.” They had practically forgotten he was there as they spoke of things long reconciled, and he listened, as enthralled as by any tale Heimdall used to spin for him.

 

“We nearly did. But then you'd do or say something and we'd decide to stick it out a little bit longer.”

 

“That surprises me,” Loki admitted. “Clint has a very loyal personality. I thought once he joined SHIELD he'd have been fine.”

 

Romanoff glanced over at him. “He is loyal. But, initially, he joined in order to help me. It was my best chance to escape the Red Room. He came for … moral support. It took a long while before I trusted that SHIELD wouldn't screw me over. It was nearly a year and a half later that things finally clicked for Clint.”

 

“What changed?”

 

Coulson frowned, staring at his tightly clenched hands. Romanoff covered them with her own, giving a squeeze, her own mouth drawn tight in remembrance. Coulson sighed, “He got caught in an op. They had him for five days before we could locate him.” Loki felt his own skin grow cold as the agent continued. “They didn't even bother trying to question him. They just jumped right into the torture. They started with beatings and a cattle prod. Then they waterboarded him. When that didn't give them the satisfaction they wanted, they pulled out an old cast iron tub and drowned him, then used CPR to bring him back, only to do it again, over and over again.” Coulson went silent for a moment, drawing strength from the woman by his side. “He says he doesn't remember the number of times he died, just that after a while he prayed that they'd tire of the game and put him out of his misery.”

 

Widow's voice was quiet, but he heard the pain and rage that laced the tone. “We found him being held head down in the tub. They'd cuffed his hands behind his back and tied his feet together so he couldn't get any leverage to pull himself up. He'd already stopped breathing again when we found him. It took a long time to bring him back.”

 

“We almost didn't,” Coulson admitted, his voice catching.

 

“But we did.”

 

“They'd broken several ribs, and we had to break a few more to get his heart started again. Medical was not happy with us, but they patched him up the best they could, dealt with the pneumonia he'd developed, and then we waited for him to wake up.”

 

“How long did that take?” Loki swallowed thickly, horrified.

 

“He stayed unconscious for over a week. We didn't know if he'd wake or even if he'd have all his mental facilities considering the length of time he'd gone without oxygen.”

 

Clint shifted on his cot, drawing their attention. With a horrified sense of resignation, the three watched as Clint's body convulsed and shook for the next ten minutes as he relived his time in captivity. 

 

Once the younger man calmed and Dr. Strange indicated that all was well, Loki prodded for more information. “You haven't explained why this is what brought Clint into the fold.”

 

Coulson nodded. “When he finally woke, we feared the worst. He simply stared at us, no recognition in his eyes at all. Then he blinked and said, 'you came for me.'”

 

“I'd never heard him sound so … shocked, I guess. Definitely surprised and a bit at a loss,” Romanoff admitted. She cleared her throat. “I knew he'd been wary of having a partner before, though I didn't know the exact reasons. I'd guess he'd been left behind, before. Often enough to expect it.”

 

“He honestly didn't believe that anyone would come for him. That we did. That I had. Well...” Coulson shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the emotions he was letting show. “You could tell the difference almost immediately. He started cultivating friendships with other agents; associating with them during downtime and giving pointers during time on the range, instead of ghosting around the place. Instead of just ignoring directives given by other handlers, he started explaining why he made changes in the plan, and in turn, they let him have freer rein in picking his own spots. It wasn't long before Fury had me assigned as their primary handler and we quickly clicked as a team.”

 

888

888

 

[Day 7 = 26-27 years of age]

 

Only periodic bruises consistent with training and some minor injuries appeared on the seventh day. Loki breathed a sigh, thanking the gods above and below that not every year had been peril-filled. This time, Steve Rogers sat cross-legged on the floor. “How often has Clint been captured by the enemy? It's not a usual occurrence, right? I mean, as a sniper, he's usually pretty far away from the main firefight.”

 

“Clint's not just a sniper. He's done undercover work in the past. He's good at it, too. With some of those ops, getting captured was part of the plan.” Coulson leaned back against the wall, finger tapping on his knee.

 

“And when it was not part of the plan?” Loki asked.

 

“In his ten years working with SHIELD, during his function as a sniper, he's been captured six times.” Coulson tossed an unreadable look at Loki. “Two of those times involved you.”

 

Steve cocked his head, “I have to be honest, here. I'm surprised he hasn't been killed.”

 

“Explain,” Loki shot a harsh look at Captain America.

 

“Most soldiers, regardless of country of origin, have a fear and sometimes hatred for snipers. They're in a separate category of their own; part of the team, and yet, not, due to their needing to be so far away from their fellow teammates. When you're being held down due to a sniper that you can't even see, let alone hit, it becomes easy to focus all your hatred on that individual. On the off chance you actually catch them...” he trailed off, but Loki didn't need to hear the rest. It sounded uncomfortably similar to how he, himself, was treated during battle. His use of trickery and illusion meant that he was near impossible to hit or catch while he, in turn, did considerable damage to the enemy. The one time he'd been caught during a battle, he would have died if Thor had not located him when he had. He shuddered.

 

“Both his first and fourth time in enemy hands, he died, and we feared we wouldn't bring him back.” Again came that fond half smile as Coulson glanced up at Clint, “But the man has a knack for surviving the damnedest things.”

 

888

 

[Day 8 = 28-29 years of age]

 

Halfway through the eighth day, Clint once again seized as his body reacted to his heart stopping several times during an incident. Stark stood with his arms crossed over his chest, one hand absently tapping on his arc reactor, face set in grim lines. “I take it this isn't the first time this has happened?”

 

Both Coulson and Loki shook their heads.

 

The rest of the day was spent silently, with Stark not once making any snarky comments.

 

888

888

 

[Day 9 = 30-31 years of age]

 

“He is small, as warriors go, but there is no doubting his fierce spirit.” Thor handed Phil a tankard of mead and sat on the far side of the blankets. He sent a sidelong look over at Loki, his expression a mixture of trepidation and longing, though he made no move to confront him. “He would be underestimated on Asgard, to the detriment of those who would dismiss him.”

 

“Why would they dismiss him?” Phil studied Clint; yes, the man was shorter than the average, but even unconscious, Barton had an aura about him, one that warned to take precautions. 

 

Loki had shifted closer to Clint's cot, studiously trying to ignore his brother. Phil watched as his shoulders twitched, clearly uncomfortable by Thor's proximity, but he refused to be chased out of the spell room. “Most Asgardian warriors are large, they tower over the rest, and they take great delight in announcing their prowess. For our culture, Clint is too subdued in both presence and carriage; no one would think he a warrior until too late.” Phil could hear the hint of a satisfied smirk in the mage's voice.

 

Bruce sat cross-legged a few feet away, picking at the label on his bottle of water. “Would he have been discouraged to become a warrior on Asgard due to his size?” he asked, clearly curious.

 

The blond thought a moment. “Perhaps initially. Generally, the larger youths are picked for training in the warrior arts. But I have a feeling he would have demanded to be taught. And our instructors enjoy teaching those eager to learn.”

 

“I've met your friends; the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. They don't appear to be the same as those you described,” Phil pointed out.

 

“They are the rare exceptions,” Loki murmured.

 

Phil caught the look of pleased surprise that flared in Thor's eyes. “The Warriors Three were trained by our private tutor. The Lady Sif...,” Thor trailed off, “She has much in common with the Lady Natasha, I believe. Both have struggled to be seen as equals in a position dominated by men. Both have worked hard for their successes, and yet, neither has lost their femininity.”

 

“You've seen how both Natasha and Clint train,” Bruce mentioned. “How different is it from the way Asgardians train?”

 

That garnered a snort from Loki and a low chuckle from Thor. “Extremely. Our teammates have entirely different skills they work on than we do. I have seen some crossover; it surprised me when Clint sparred with me using the blade. He is very good, but his stature is such that speed and dexterity are by necessity emphasized over strength.”

 

“How would they fare against your friends?”

 

“Though highly unconventional in the ways of the Asgardians, he and the Lady Natasha work well together, and I feel would be able to teach our own warriors many lessons.”

 

Phil felt his lips quirk in satisfaction. “Perhaps when this is over, we can put that to the test.”

 

“We would welcome such an exhibition of skill,” Thor proclaimed.

 

888

888

 

[Day 10 = 32-33 years of age]

 

As a precaution, Dr. Strange strapped Clint to the cot as the other Avengers began filling the room. Banner made to protest, but the sorcerer negated it. “Mr. Laufeyson had to remove the tesseract energy from Agent Coulson which should have been taken care of by the spell, but was not. If the tesseract is as active now as before, there's no telling what it may do to Agent Barton. Better safe than sorry.” His voice brooked no dissent. “As Agent Barton is somewhat aware, I want Mr. Laufeyson to stand here,” he pointed at a spot near the head of the cot. “If he looks distressed, you need to tell him to stand down as often as necessary until it passes. He's expecting to hear your voice; if he doesn't, I'm not sure what will happen.”

 

Loki took his position, glancing between Clint and the clock, wondering what would happen. Clint's eyelids flickered open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly, his eyes darkened, then transformed into a brilliant electrified blue that locked onto his own, completely and utterly lucid, drawing gasps from the others. He struggled against the bonds, hands clenching and unclenching. “Boss?” a multitude of questions lay within that one word.

 

“Stand down, Agent Barton.”

 

Eyes flickered over the people standing in the room, assessing threat levels and obviously unhappy with the order. “Not sure I like that idea, Boss.”

 

“Never the less, stand down.”

 

“Hostiles, Boss?”

 

Loki shook his head, “No, my Hawk. They are on our side. All is well. Stand down.”

 

The head cocked and Loki felt himself being assessed before a reluctant nod was given. A huff escaped the Agent and though the body ceased struggling, Loki could still see the lines of tension as Barton tried to comply. The slight clank of metal drew Loki's attention; Clint's hands had balled back up into fists, straining against the cuffs.

 

“Boss?” the barely hidden plea drew a gentle smile from the mage.

 

“Soon, my Hawk,” he promised, laying a hand over one of the cuffs, understanding it was the straps that had the agent so uneasy. Barton didn't like being tied down and even the tesseract could not subjugate that.

 

“Did he act like that before?” Coulson asked quietly.

 

“Oh, yes. Barton was very practical and made a habit of commenting on any problems or holes he spotted in whatever plan I came up with.” He smirked again, “Of course, now I can see that a few times he ripped new holes in whatever we were doing to make it easier for you to take us down.”

 

“Easier?” blurted Stark.

 

Widow nodded, “Had he truly wanted us dead, Clint wouldn't have even needed to step foot on the helicarrier at all.”

 

Loki laughed delightedly at the gobsmacked expressions.

 

“Gonna need a new strategy, Boss.”

 

Loki blinked, startled by the grim tones. Even the others were at a loss. “How do you mean?”

 

“If the Avengers are on our side … what are you going to do now?”

 

“I...” he glanced around, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, it's not like you want to win.”

 

Before he could demand an explanation at this revelation, Clint's head snapped to the side as if violently struck. The electric blue faded as Clint slipped back under Dr. Strange's spell.

 

While the others argued amongst themselves over what Clint had meant, Loki exchanged glances with Coulson. “Even you said I lacked conviction, but how would he have known?”

 

“He's not known as 'Hawkeye' just for his aim. Most tend to ignore it because he never had a formal education, but he's very good at seeing all the little details and piecing them together into the big picture. If you didn't press your hold over him as much as you could he would have noticed and come up with a plausible theory.”

 

“'Doors open from both sides'?” Loki quoted, one corner of his mouth curled up.

 

“Exactly.”

 

They were quiet for a long moment, letting the others wind down their discussion. At a sharp glance from Romanoff, Dr. Strange removed the restraints. Everyone winced at the swollen and purpled flesh. “What the hell?” Banner sounded furious and had to excuse himself as his eyes flashed dangerously.

 

Even though Barton had been lucid and reacting in 'real time,' the spell was still in action with every two minutes equaling a full day. For eighteen minutes, Clint had struggled or fidgeted within the cuffs which equated to nine days of near constant friction and stress.

 

“He didn't break any bones, did he?” Steve asked, absently rubbing at his own wrist in remembered pain.

 

Dr. Strange shook his head. “I don't know. Nothing registered with the spell. We'll have to see if the spell heals them or not. Technically, the time under the spell counts as time needed to catch up on, so, they may, but until this is over, we can't risk moving him for x-rays or using any additional magic.”

 

“If they aren't healed by the spell, shouldn't we bandage them now?” Selvig suggested. “It would keep him from accidentally damaging them further when he wakes.”

 

Dr. Strange nodded his agreement. Tony pulled out the first aid kid handing it over. The sorcerer motioned Loki closer. “Lift his arm so I can wrap the bandages.” The two swiftly secured Clint's writs before edging back out of the circle.

 

“I'll let Bruce know what happened.” Romanoff slipped out of the room.

 

Nearly an hour later, she returned with the scientist in tow. Banner looked sheepish, but didn't say anything as he handed sandwiches out to everyone. No one mocked him for his lack of control. In fact, Loki had to admire how quickly the man took himself out of range when the transformation became impossible to hold off.

 

888

888

 

Clint woke to the mother of all headaches, his own pulse too loud, never mind the excited chatter of a room full of people. He swallowed thickly, trying to combat the rising nausea. Brow furrowed with pain, he hid his eyes in the crook of his arm as even the light beyond closed lids proved too strong.

 

He couldn't suppress the flinch as a hand touched his arm. “Clint?”

 

He recognized Coulson's voice, and though part of him rejoiced and marveled at being able to hear it once again, a larger part cringed as the sound reverberated through his skull. “Migraine,” he managed to grit out, wondering if he made it to his true age only to die from a brain aneurism. He heard Stark quietly mutter to JARVIS and the lights dimmed. Tasha's fingers trailed briefly along the back of his hand in welcome and relief. Then he heard a door open and the careful footfalls of people attempting to sneak away. He stifled a smirk, truly touched that they cared enough to try not to cause further harm, despite the questions and self-assurances he knew they must have.

 

He sensed three people still in the room. By their breathing, he recognized Coulson and Loki. So, the last person, the one closest to him, was probably... “Hey, doc. Got something for this wicked headache” He would have smiled as the man's gait hesitated a moment, but he honestly felt he would maim someone for some decent painkillers.

 

“Why maim?” Loki's voice was pitched low, which he appreciated.

 

Guess he'd said that last part aloud, “Why let them out of their misery when I'm not?” He cautiously moved his arm and blinked to clear the fog from his vision. He squinted a bit, the light more bearable, but still too bright. The lights dimmed even further and he could open his eyes fully. “Thank you, JARVIS,” he muttered, careful not to spike the headache with his own voice.

 

“You're quite welcome, Master Clint,” the AI murmured.

 

He did let a smile escape as Coulson mouthed, “Master Clint?”

 

“I told you, JARVIS likes me.” With a groan he sat up, waving off the other's attempts to help.

 

Loki, of course, ignored him and climbed up onto the cot behind him. The mage dug his fingers into the tense neck and shoulder muscles, causing him to hiss and wince as he attacked multiple knots, but made no protest as within minutes the migraine started to ease.

 

“Why did he get a migraine?” Coulson demanded of Dr. Strange. “I didn't.” The voice was soft, but Clint could hear the edge of steel.

 

The sorcerer turned a dark gaze upon the Senior Agent. Clint hid a smile as Coulson didn't even so much as flinch, steadily returning the gaze. “The migraine is a reaction to body shock.” Strange turned a contemplative look on Clint who held himself perfectly still to keep his unease from showing. “Each time you stopped breathing or your heart stopped beating, the re-continuance caused your body to convulse. The migraine is in reaction to the number of convulsions you went through.”

 

Clint frowned, barely noticing how Loki's fingers tightened on his shoulders or the sharp intake of breath from Coulson. “This isn't going to cause me to have seizures, is it?”

 

A faint smile crossed the sorcerer's lips. “No. In fact, once you've rested, you shouldn't have any problems along those lines.” For the next few minutes, the sorcerer examined him to insure that the last of the serum had left his system and that the tesseract energy would no longer cause any problems. Satisfied, Dr. Strange wearily rose to his feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think it is time and past that I seek my own bed before I can conduct the ritual on Dr. Selvig.”

 

Clint reached out a hand, “Doc, I really appreciate everything you've done.”

 

Dr. Strange clasped his hand. “It was my pleasure. Good evening,” and he left the room.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Clint shot a side look at Coulson, seeing the worry, and he smiled gently. “I'll be okay. Migraine's almost gone, thanks to the massage.” He reached up and patted Loki's hands, getting a mild pinch at the back of his neck in return. “I might have to deal with some nightmares, but I'll settle.” Coulson nodded his understanding – reliving twenty years meant a lot of what had been forgotten or faded were much fresher now.

 

Loki finished and slid around to sit beside Clint. “Anything I can do about the nightmares? I've got a spell that can block them.”

 

“No offense, but I think I've had enough of spells for a while. Thanks anyway. Besides, if I don't deal with them now, they'll catch me when I'm not prepared. Rather just get it over with.”

 

Loki shrugged a shoulder, obviously not understanding, but not willing to argue just yet.

 

Clint narrowed his eyes. “How come you still look fifteen?” At the guilty look that flashed in his eyes, Clint hazarded a guess. “Afraid if you shapeshift to your actual appearance that Thor might suddenly haul you off to Asgard for an even stricter punishment?” 

 

Loki's mouth dropped open and Coulson chucked. “I told you.”

 

Clint continued, “He already knows you have all your magic back. If he hasn't dragged you back in chains by now, he isn't going to.”

 

“He just doesn't want to disrupt things while everyone's getting set to rights.”

 

“Loki. Your brother loves you, but if he thought you were still a threat, would he have let you stay where you could have caused so much chaos by 'accidentally' smudging a line during either Coulson's ritual or my own? Even if he didn't want to 'disrupt things', if he thought you a threat, would he have left you alone?”

 

The trickster god went still and Clint stayed silent reveling in finally being pain free as the last of the migraine ebbed away.

 

Coulson added, “Besides, the Sorcerer Supreme himself claimed you had been taken over by the tesseract yourself and are now free of its influence. Remember?”

 

A large smile crossed Loki's face as he smoothly shapeshifted into his older appearance, changing his clothing into a pair of dark blue jeans and a jade sweater that matched his eyes. The mage wrinkled his nose. “You need to bathe.”

 

Clint grimaced at the reminder, “And eat.” He yawned, “and maybe sleep for a week.”

 

Coulson tugged him to his feet, helping him stay upright as the swayed. “Medical first. I want to make sure everything healed properly. Especially your wrists.”

 

Clint glanced down, noticing the bandages for the first time. “My wrists? What's wrong with my wrists?” He followed Coulson as the man tried to explain.

 

888

888

 

Selvig's ritual was pleasingly anti-climatic. The scientist had only broken a toe and his left arm in those twenty years. As for the tesseract, Loki didn't have to say much, just let Selvig babble about the possibilities. Everyone rotated in and out to keep vigil over the man, and to converse with Dr. Strange. By the time the sorcerer completed the final spell, firm friendships had been established and each promised to help the other if there were ever a need.

 

888

888

 

Three days after Selvig's ritual completed, Natasha stalked into the living room, several large duffel bags in hand. Clint, Phil, Loki, Thor, and Steve were crashed out on the couches. “What's wrong, 'Tasha?” Clint asked, lifting his head from the cushion.

 

“You've been declared KIA and SHIELD has officially called off any and all search parties for you.” She set the bags down beside the couch. “I managed to get all your gear before they locked your room down.” Though her expression seemed calm, Clint could tell that she was seething. “I even hit R&D and picked up all the tech they were working on for you.”

 

Clint nodded, staring at the bags, then he shrugged and dropped his head back on the cushion. “Thought so. Did you resign?”

 

She only nodded and climbed up to curl up between him and the back of the couch. He wrapped an arm around her, giving her a kiss on the temple. “Thanks for grabbing my stuff.” Coulson, sitting on the other end of the couch, patted both of them on the ankle in commiseration.

 

Steve looked horrified. “How can you be so calm?”

 

Clint gave a shrug, but continued staring up at the ceiling. “I'm not stupid, and neither is Fury. 'Tasha's been keeping an ear out. Despite all of Peters' hopes, no one's bragged about having me or killing me. It's been two months. There are no leads.”

 

“But still...,” Steve spluttered.

 

Heaving a sigh, Clint tried to explain. “I disappeared from an op, Steve. For all they know, I either did something stupid that caused me to die in a place where no one will find my body for a while, if ever; or I went rogue and I'll pop up somewhere Fury least expects. That he continued looking for so long actually surprises me. I figured the Council would have considered me expendable and forced him to issue a burn notice and be done with it.” At Steve's stricken expression, he softened his tone. “I caused too much damage the first time I went rogue, they would have been well within their right to lock me up after the whole incident.”

 

Natasha nudged him with her elbow, her tone bland. “What do you think is the real reason?”

 

He shrugged again. “Since he never admitted Phil was alive, my guess is that Fury only kept looking because he hoped I'd found Coulson and had gone to ground with him. This long without word, though, and he probably thinks Coulson's lost for good and he can't legitimately continue searching anymore.”

 

888

888

 

Phil Coulson kept his poker face only through long years of practice, but the sight of Director Nick Fury standing stock still in the doorway and utterly speechless at the tableau before him, made Phil want to collapse in laughter.

 

Most of team, plus Dr. Selvig and Pepper Potts, were sitting around the kitchen table, playing poker. Instead of regular poker chips, they were using various types of potato chips as wagers.

 

“Director Fury.” Steve glanced up from his cards, but otherwise made no move to acknowledge the man.

 

“Ah, Fury. Good to see you. Care to join us in a game?” Stark smirked. “We've just opened the pot. Careful though, our Black Widow is actually a Card Shark.”

 

Natasha merely raised an elegant brow, but said nothing.

 

Pepper smiled, though Phil thought he detected a few too many teeth. “Sour Cream and Onion are ten, Barbeque are five, and Regular Ruffles are one.”

 

Banner reached out, snagged a BBQ chip and popped it in his mouth. “Or you can just watch and kibitz like me.”

 

“I thought those were for playing, not eating. Was I incorrect?” Thor boomed after waving at Fury and pulling his pile of chips closer.

 

“No. You're right.” Selvig scowled. “Banner, stop eating the BBQ chips.”

 

A bag of Fritos sailed through the air to land at Bruce's elbow. “Thank you, Clint.”

 

“Anytime, Doc.” He slid past a startled Fury, nodding at the man. “Director. Will you be joining us? I can get you a drink if you'd like.” He cocked his head at Fury and Phil admired the calm solicitous behavior when he knew just how angry Clint felt.

 

[Flashback]

 

“ _You're still angry,” Loki mentioned, watching the younger man standing by the window._

 

“ _Yes, but not about the search being called off.”_

 

_Phil remembered the matter of fact tone Clint had used when admitting he was expendable, it still made his chest ache. “Then what does have you so upset?”_

 

_He was taken aback at the blaze of anger within green blue-gray eyes when Clint whirled to face him. “He told us you were dead. A year, Phil. To us, you've been dead for over a year. And I had thought...” His throat worked though no words came and Phil knew that Clint had believed his death to be his fault. Forget about mind control. Forget the fact that it had been Phil's decision to confront Loki without backup. For a year, all Clint knew was that ihis actions had caused Phil's death. “And that son of a bitch knew I felt guilty about it. I had to go to mandatory psyche evals for ages before I got the okay to be back in the field. He had to read all the damn transcripts before agreeing to lift the restrictions. He knew that of everything that happened, that one thing still ate at me. Yet he didn't tell me – us – that you'd survived. And for that I don't I don't think I can forgive him.”_

 

[end Flashback]

 

“No. Thank you,” Fury focused his one eye on the archer. “I'm glad to see you're not dead.”

 

A thin smile appeared on Barton's face before disappearing again. “Thank you. It appears that, like someone else I know, the news of my death was greatly exaggerated.” His gaze flickered toward Phil.

 

He calmly smiled back, “Mark Twain fan?”

 

Phil heaved a mental sigh of relief as Clint turned partially away from Fury to head for his seat. “Always wanted to be Tom Sawyer.”

 

Tony flicked a card over to him, “Always thought of you as more like Huckleberry Finn, myself.”

 

“Well, yeah.” he grinned. “I practically was. That's why I wanted to be Sawyer.”

 

“If anyone at the table is Sawyer, it would be Tony,” Steve teased as he discarded two cards.

 

“Care to white wash my fence? Tony waggled his brows. “It'll be fun.”

 

Pepper smacked his arm, “Enough out of you.”

 

“Guess that makes you Becky Thatcher,” Bruce commented with a smile, crunching on his Fritos.

 

“I was always partial to Pudd'n head Wilson, myself,” Selvig tossed three cards, accepting new ones from Tony. A frown crossed his face. “Damn. That's worse than what I had. I fold.”

 

“Coulson...” Fury began.

 

Phil saw Clint's hand clench then relax, an evil glint entering his eye as he stared at something past Fury.

 

Phil followed his gaze and nearly choked on his water as Loki walked in with a plate of cookies. “Care for one, Director? They're chocolate chip.”

 

“What the hell is he doing here?” A pistol appeared in his hand, aimed unwaveringly between the mage's eyes.

 

“Recovering,” Clint replied, eyes seemingly focused on his cards, though Phil knew the archer's attention hadn't left Fury for even a moment.

 

Fury knew it too, a sneer curling his lip. “Recovering from what?”

 

“Being mind fucked by the tesseract,” came the bland reply and the rest of the table stopped pretending to play cards to gauge Fury's reaction.

 

The sneer had gone, but the disbelief still ran strong. “Want to run that by me again?”

 

“Being mind fucked by the tesseract,” Clint obediently repeated. He lay down his cards and turned in his seat to focus fully on Fury. “There was a … situation with some HYDRA agents and a base in Italy. We've spent the last month and a half dealing with some of the after effects. We had to call in Dr. Stephen Strange to help. In the process, he confirmed that just as Dr. Selvig and I had been overtaken by the tesseract, so had Loki – and for quite a bit longer than us, as well. The Doc cleared out the residual and gave us clean bills of health.” A lilt entered his voice and Phil winced at the overly sugary sweet tone. “We were going to wait 'til tomorrow to send the paperwork, but since you're here now...” he gave a large, obviously fake grin, only to drop it quickly.

 

“We looked for you,” Fury offered, his own tone quiet.

 

Clint's matched his, but Phil could hear the sorrow. “You looked for Phil, but since you couldn't admit to anyone he lived, I was convenient. Well, here he is. Safe and sound. He's agreed to be our liaison as he is the only member of SHIELD we're currently willing to listen to.” He turned back to his cards.

 

“You're still a member of SHIELD,” Fury mentioned.

 

“Contract dissolved when you proclaimed me KIA, Director. You know that.”

 

Fury actually winced at that. “Can I get you to change your mind?”

 

“Not today. Ask me when I'm not willing to reduce you to your component atoms and then give you to Stark, Banner, and Selvig to play with.”

 

Fury actually took a step back at that and Phil rose from the table, giving Clint's shoulder a squeeze as he passed his chair and motioned for Fury to follow him out into the hallway.

 

“I really fucked up, didn't I?”

 

Again, Phil didn't let his surprise show. Fury had never admitted to being wrong in all the time he'd known the man. “Yes.”

 

Fury winced again. “I deserved that. I shouldn't have declared Barton KIA.”

 

“That isn't why he's upset.”

 

“It's not?”

 

Phil gave him his most unimpressed look, rewarded by a sharp nod. Fury sighed, running a hand over his face. “I'll speak with Dr. Strange. In the meantime, will Loki's presence on Earth cause issues with the Asgardians?”

 

“No.” Phil didn't elaborate, because he truly didn't know, but he wasn't going to admit that.

 

Another sharp nod and Fury turned, then paused. He placed a hand on Phil's shoulder and squeezed; something like regret flashed in his eye before it disappeared behind the fierce expression he normally wore, and he stalked away.

 

“Will things work out?” Loki asked quietly from the doorway.

 

Phil took a breath and listened as the rest of his team slowly relaxed once more. “Yes. Yes, I believe they will.” He gestured for Loki to accompany him back to the table. “Stark, you had better stop dealing from the bottom of the deck or Natasha is going to cut all your fingers off.”

 

888

888

 

[Asgard]

 

“... and they welcome him at their table as a friend and fellow guardian.”

 

Odin, All-Father listened gravely to Hiemdall's words. Various scenarios ran through his mind as well as all the consequences and repercussions before he decided upon a course of action. “Loki still has those on Asgard who would feel the truth of his current situation does not excuse his behavior from before his fall from the BiFrost. Therefore, Loki shall be banished to Midgard for one full turn of Idun's garden.”

 

“A century?” Heimdale inquired. “And if this 'creature' that had enslaved a Prince of Asgard comes searching for him before that century is through?

 

Odin smiled, “We are, and forever shall be, family. He need only call upon us for our aid. I'll send a message tomorrow with Hunin and Munin. For tonight, let him bask in the glow of his made family on Midgard.”

 

 

[end]

 

began writing Oct. 1, 2012

finished typing Nov. 20, 2012

beta read by Aislinn Nov. 22, 2012

edited by Curtis March 9, 2013

 

47,765 words


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